Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Martin Scorsese is missing in jumpy mystery-thriller.

Shutter Island, last week’s box-office champ, is currently perched on screens like Poe’s Raven, crowing “Nevermore” at anyone who believes that director Martin Scorsese’s best work is still ahead of him.

Scorsese’s latest film is a distracted, jumpy mystery-thriller characterized by its director’s unusual fascination with the psychological garland that swathes its meandering central story about Teddy Daniels, a U.S. marshal (Leonardo DiCaprio) who arrives via boat at an island hospital for the criminally insane to investigate a mysterious patient disappearance. When the film and its able actors are not dragged down into the muck of Daniels’ paranoid compulsions, it’s often an effectively rain-drenched mood piece that seems designed to induce in the viewer not just anxiety but sweaty, flu-like symptoms.

It’s a strange film, challenging and more clever than it first appears. But what’s most strange is that its director, cinematographer, and production designer leap to life whenever the hero is unconscious. The textures and corridors of Teddy’s dreams are incongruously tactile, dusted as they are by the rains of ash, snowflakes, and official documents that quickly visualize Teddy’s inner turmoil; he feels convinced that his world is simultaneously burning up, evaporating, and being buried by large, sinister forces beyond his control. In a way, Shutter Island would have been far more effective if it had abandoned its story altogether and stitched and scrambled all the avant-garde stuff into a fearsome short.

Astute film critics have noted several key cinematic touchstones that burden Shutter Island‘s tale of extraordinary madness, but a pair of pungent mid-1960s films, Roman Polanski’s Repulsion and Otto Preminger’s Bunny Lake Is Missing, haunt this film even more. The psychological horror of Polanski’s and Preminger’s films developed out of each director’s cool distance from their subjects, which was expressed through frequent occasions when improbable jolts upset the mundane activities of everyday life. Shutter Island leaves no room for the everyday; every patient has a dark secret, every cop wants to chew your eyeballs out, and every spectacular shot of DiCaprio scaling the island’s dangerous cliffs is designed to top Jimmy Stewart’s seaside encounters in Vertigo.

Nonetheless, there are a couple of eerie passages in the movie, and near the end of the film, the director sets off one startling, well-timed shock. But there’s a tactical problem Scorsese can’t solve that stems from the tricky script. As DiCaprio’s search starts to wither, there’s an even stronger sense that the story’s not supposed to make sense, which, even though the film’s last turn of the screw occurs with its last image, is far more frustrating than liberating. Neither the technique nor the impact of discrete scenes compensates for the feeling that you’ve been had.

Categories
Cover Feature News

Up in a Down Economy

In the last two years, virtually everyone has been affected by the recession. U.S. workers have suffered layoffs, cutbacks, hiring freezes, salary freezes, and wage cuts. Rising health-care costs and loss of benefits have put an additional financial squeeze on many families.

With some experts suggesting the recession is starting to end, we wanted to look at some local bright spots: people who are succeeding despite — or even because of — the recession.

These cases don’t center on the federal stimulus package or multimillion-dollar bonuses; they’re just real people making the hard times work for them.

Making Contact

By all accounts, the 2009 Staxtacular — the Soulsville Foundation’s annual fund-raiser — was a success. The economy wasn’t great, but the event made more money than expected.

“We crunched the numbers, and I felt great,” says Kerry Hayes, the foundation’s former development manager and marketing manager for education. “I felt like I had a lot of job security.”

It wasn’t a feeling destined to last.

The next week, on Hayes’ birthday, his boss at Soulsville told him the board had eliminated Hayes’ position. Hayes says he was so shocked that it took him a few moments to realize that his job had been the one eliminated.

“Then I snapped out of it. I got on the phone immediately and started telling people,” he says. “I realized I needed to run this like a PR campaign for myself and get in front of the message.”

Within a day, all of Hayes’ friends knew what had happened and had a copy of his resume.

“It was healthy for me,” he says. “It gave me something to do, but it also let me feel like I was in control of this very uncontrollable situation.”

It also worked. Hayes was only out of work for two weeks before landing a new job at Carpenter/Sullivan/Sossaman, also called CS2.

“CS2 was our agency for Soulsville, so I knew those guys,” Hayes says. “They were one of my first calls.”

The agency had landed a contract with the Salvation Army’s Kroc Center. As part of that project, they needed someone familiar with nonprofits who could set up meetings with the local community, schools, organizations, and churches, giving Hayes what he calls “a crash course in the city.”

“I never thought of myself as an ad agency guy prior to falling into that job, but it was a great fit,” he says.

It also helped prepare him for the job he has today: Memphis mayor A C Wharton’s special assistant for research and innovation.

Hayes had helped on Wharton’s city mayoral campaign, and after Wharton won the election, he got the opportunity to work for the city.

“My dream job is to do stuff that helps the city,” Hayes says.

But Hayes also got another unexpected benefit when he was laid off from Soulsville: the chance to appreciate the people he knows.

“When I looked through my Rolodex, I realized I have a lot of cool friends,” he says. “How often do you stop and think, How awesome are my friends?” — Mary Cashiola

In the Spirit

Conventional wisdom holds that “sin” items — pornography and liquor, for example — are recession-proof. But reality’s grip on that maxim, it seems, is a bit looser.

Video and online porn sales are down, and wine and spirit sales, while not down, are flat.

“Word in the industry is that flat is the new up,” says Gary Burhop, owner of Great Wines and Spirits in Regalia at Ridgeway Center in East Memphis.

And while flat sales are not ideal, they are better than nothing at all. After working in public affairs, Burhop, at age 50, opened Great Wines in 2000 around Thanksgiving. A year later, as holiday events were being planned, 9/11 happened, and everything was canceled. “The start-up period was rocky indeed,” Burhop says, “but we managed to survive.”

In December 2007, Burhop got his first taste of the current recession. “We noticed a lack of enthusiastic gift-giving,” he says. “Our business mirrored what the government reported was the beginning of the recession.”

Customers are still buying wine and liquor, but they’re “trading down.” Their dollars generally are going not for one high-price bottle of wine but for more bottles at lower prices. (Burhop does note that his devoted single-malt consumers are still going for the good stuff, recession be damned.)

The upshot of the recession is that Burhop has been more actively marketing the shop through newsletters and teaming up with restaurants to host wine dinners to draw in new customers. He also has a bargaining position with distributors he didn’t have before, given that wine and liquor sales are particularly down in restaurants. He now has access to previously hard-to-get wines such as Romanée Conti and California cult wines like Bond.

In addition, Burhop says that many established wineries are offering new labels at value prices to move product. “People are always curious if expensive wines are the best. I answer, ‘Yes, usually, or it should be,'” he says, noting that there are many cheaper, good wines. “Up to a point, wine can’t get any better.” — Susan Ellis

Any Way You Slice It

When Fresh Slices opened in Midtown six years ago, it was a family-operated business.

But it didn’t stay that way for long.

“We started to grow so quickly,” says Tasha Logan, the restaurant’s manager and the daughter of the restaurant’s owner. “We hadn’t expected how busy it was going to be. We had to start hiring other people.”

Three years later, the family opened a second location in Cordova, and last year, they opened their third location on Stage Road.

Logan attributes the restaurant’s success, especially amid an economic downturn, to its prices. Though their distributors have raised prices, Fresh Slices tries to keep prices consistent.

“We try to keep our prices moderate and serve a nice-sized portion of food,” she says. “We want to be conscious of not raising prices because of the recession.”

The menu is extensive, and entrées range from $6 to $20. The Midtown Fresh Slices also has the added benefit of being located in a residential neighborhood. Not only is it kid-friendly, but it’s within walking distance for many residents. Even during the season’s snow days, the restaurant was open and full of customers.

“The neighborhood has been good to us,” she says. “We get some people in here two or three times a week.

“We feel really blessed,” Logan continues. “We’ve seen a lot of restaurants close this year, and that’s just not us.” — Mary Cashiola

The Sweet Life

In her former career as a dental-business consultant, Gigi’s Cupcakes owner Marilyn Weber spent three weeks out of every month flying to dentist offices across the country, offering consultation on how to make going to the dentist a more pleasant experience for patients.

But when the stock market took a turn for the worse, Weber knew her consulting job was on the line. She and two others were laid off last September.

“It wasn’t a shock. Even our own clients were a little nervous about bringing consulting on board, because it was an expense to them. As the economy changes, people all pull back,” Weber says.

Weber had a back-up plan. When she married her husband in July 2009, the couple ordered Gigi’s Cupcakes from the regional chain’s flagship store in Nashville for their wedding.

“We did lots of taste-testing, and we ended up with Gigi’s. It was such a positive experience,” Weber says.

Weber always loved to cook and bake, and shortly after her layoff, she made the decision to open the first Memphis location of Gigi’s Cupcakes on Poplar in East Memphis. Known for their cupcakes’ signature swirl of frosting — which is as large as the cake itself — Gigi’s boasts 12 locations in Tennessee, Kentucky, Texas, and Alabama.

“I could have opened a shop on my own, but as a business consultant, I knew that it was best for me to follow those who’ve already done the things that I haven’t experienced. Their experience will help me get over some stumbling blocks they’d already had,” Weber says. “The idea behind the franchise is assistance with name recognition and branding.”

Weber’s decision to open Gigi’s sent her to the chain’s “cupcake college,” where she learned to perfect the signature swirl.

Her small shop opened less than a month ago, but Weber and her team of bakers and decorators already are putting out nearly 900 cupcakes per day. On some days, a line forms outside the door before the 10 a.m. opening time.

Part of the proceeds from each $3 cupcake sale benefits Sweet Outpourings, a nonprofit organization Weber started to provide funds for local organizations that feed the hungry.

“I am exceptionally happy in this job. This feeds my soul,” Weber says. “I like the fact that I’m not packing a suitcase every Sunday, but I’m not so happy to give up my frequent flyer miles. I won’t be sitting in first class anymore — but I think I’ll be happier.” — Bianca Phillips

Chapter 7

Toni Campbell Parker is a Memphis lawyer who has been specializing in bankruptcies, mainly commercial ones, for a couple of decades. She was aware that the housing industry was beginning to slump by late 2007, but her backruptcy clientele, derived mostly from “construction and real estate and related companies,” didn’t begin to zoom for another year.

“I started seeing it at the end of 2008 and the beginning of 2009, with people who thought they could hang on and thought the market would come back,” she says. What happened was that many folks hung on too long and “used all their money, all their savings, all their IRA’s in the hope of a turnaround.”

And these, Parker points out, were “not just the people who are doing real estate development or building houses, but the plumbers and electricians and all those are affected — people who may have been working for a construction company or provided services.”

All in all, Parker says, “I think I’ve had at least a 30 percent increase [in bankruptcies] the last 12 months or so, and I’d say 80 percent of that is from the development industry.”

She pauses: “We’re talking about people who lost everything as a result.”

Everything, in Parker’s case, mostly means Chapter 7. Like a Chapter 13 backruptcy, Chapter 7 allows most of a debt to be discharged fairly immediately and, to that end, empowers a bankruptcy trustee to dispose of the filer’s non-exempt property. In Chapter 13, an individual forfeits no property but must file and keep to a repayment plan with creditors.

“I don’t file as many Chapter 13’s as a lot of attorneys,” Parker says. And much of her Chapter 7 filing is on behalf of debtors who either took out large loans or guaranteed them for others.

Another type of bankruptcy, Chapter 11, is what Parker calls a “workout,” allowing a debtor, individual or company, to restructure obligations so as to resolve them. Those have picked up somewhat in the last year, she says, but to nothing like the same degree as Chapter 7 bankruptcies.

How long will this state of affairs last? “I’d say another year or two,” Parker estimates.

In the meantime, will she herself end up paying Uncle Sam more in the way of personal income taxes? “Yeah, it’ll probably bump a little,” Parker says matter-of-factly.

Jackson Baker

Resale Retail

Paul Fermi spent 10 years as a general contractor and the 12 years before that as an engineer.

Then, in 2008, at the beginning of the recession, he opened a re-sale store. He’d never worked retail before but says he has an entrepreneurial spirit.

“The construction and housing market was down. I had two small children of my own,” he says. “I decided, let’s go for it.”

After doing some research, Fermi opened a franchise of Once Upon a Child, a Minneapolis-based children’s resale store, in Cordova two years ago. And on a recent sunny Friday afternoon, with almost-new strollers lining the storefront, a cadre of moms browsed through the well-organized aisles of boys’ and girls’ clothing.

Each day, about 60 customers come in to sell items, and Fermi says he hears stories of economic hardship all the time. “Their kids can’t wear the clothes any more, and they need the money,” he says.

The store buys all types of clothing regardless of the season and pays for gently used items in cash.

Parents also can find a bargain at Once Upon a Child. About 10 percent of the store’s products are new, including hair accessories, blankets, and pacifiers. The rest — clothing, baby swings, high chairs — are sold to consumers for about 25 percent of the original retail price.

“We offer a product for a price that, otherwise, may not be affordable for many of our parents,” Fermi says. “We’re told time and time again that the store is a blessing.”

Fermi thinks a store like his would thrive under any economic conditions, especially in a community as economically diverse as Cordova.

“We need both high- and low-income families for us to survive,” he says.

In March, Fermi will open a second franchise in Southaven, twice the size of his first store. The first two months that store is open, however, they’ll be buying merchandise.

“It’s a cash-hungry business,” Fermi says. “We buy and sell product every single day.”

Fermi says the secret to the store’s success is the value and convenience they offer consumers.

“Not very many people can compete with Walmart,” he says. “When it’s all new products, there’s no way to compete.” — Mary Cashiola

Hands-On Approach

After getting laid off, Sonya Williams says she found her calling.

Williams had been a fund-raiser and meeting planner for the better part of her adult life. She loved her job, but last September, she was let go.

“We had a group that had a meeting out of town with our funders. The funders told them they had to cut two positions — and one of them was mine,” she says.

It wasn’t a harsh lay-off; Williams got a decent amount of severance pay and time off.

“They did what they could under the circumstances. I didn’t feel like I was jacked,” Williams says.

Even so, she says, she was shocked and discombobulated. After spending a few days updating her resume and “having a mild meltdown,” Williams needed to clear her head. She jumped in the car and left town for a few days, leaving her husband and son behind.

She soon found her way.

“It was the drive. I was alone in my car, thinking, What am I going to do?” Williams says.

She decided to enroll in an eight-month program at the Massage Institute of Memphis, something she never would have done before.

“You spend four years in an institution of higher learning and all the money you’ve got at the time … I didn’t want to waste my degree, for lack of a better term,” she says.

Williams always had been interested in massage, but she says she never would have quit her fund-raising job to go back to school. It was too scary. With the economy in the tank, she had nothing to lose.

Williams also found an unfamiliar calm in being let go.

“I have always been one of those people who have to be in control of everything. Not having a plan and not knowing always scared the hell out of me,” she says. “I’ve been able to let that go. I’m not concerned about that right now.”

She’ll graduate from her massage program in May and considers massage her calling.

“It was one of the best things that ever happened to me. If I hadn’t gotten laid off, I would still be doing the same thing,” she says. “It’s a blessing to know that I am helping people to help their bodies to heal.”

Her friends have benefited, too, as Williams needs to practice her technique.

“I do a lot of laundry these days — sheets, towels. But it makes me really happy. I’ve always loved my job, but I don’t think I’ve been this happy in my entire life.” — Mary Cashiola

Categories
Food & Wine Food & Drink

Seconds

Au Fond, the newest project from Ben Vaughn of Grace, is scheduled to open the first week in March. Last week, I took a sneak peek at the space, which is coming along nicely.

Au Fond, French for “in essence” and a cooking term for “the core of a dish,” will be part retail, part restaurant. Vaughn uses the term “farmtable,” a portmanteau word that evokes a wholesome, open ambience and offers an alternative to “café” or “bistro.” But what is a farmtable exactly?

According to Vaughn, it takes its cue from old English or French breakfast tables, where a select number of quality breakfast items would be served right next to the open kitchen. At Au Fond, eggs (chicken or duck), pancakes, brioche, rye breads, slow-cured bacon — all prepared in-house — will be on the breakfast menu. The lunch menu will consist of Kentucky “hot browns,” homemade pastas, chicken salads, pimento cheese, and the French staple, pommes frites. Au Fond will keep the drink selection simple, with a choice of white or red table wine and light or dark beer. Vaughn plans to make things interesting with the soda options, though, collecting familiar favorites and also some unfamiliar brands. (He handed me a bottle of spicy Blenheim Ginger Ale as a teaser.)

Like Grace, Au Fond will use every inch of its deep-set space, with a shop at the front, tables and seating in the middle, and eventually a bakery and cooking space in the back. Part of the wall between Au Fond and Grace will be removed, and both this opening and the front entrance on Cooper will lead into the retail store. Here, shoppers will find charcuterie, foie gras, an extensive menu of cheeses (Vaughn looks to have 130 labels) from all over the world, coffees, teas, vinegars, oils, spices, and extracts, ready-made items from Grace, and a host of bakery items. Other plans include offering fruit and vegetables from local vendors, pre-planted micro-greens to help people start their own herb gardens, and fresh-cut flowers from Flora Farms.

Menu options will be written on recycled wooden doors mounted on the wall, and Vaughn and manager Chey Fulgham have crafted a distressed facade for the retail shop to separate the front of the store from the courtyard-like dining section. A skylight and greenery will give the seating area an outdoor feel, and a fountain will make the picture complete. (When Vaughn mentions this last part to me, Fulgham looks up. “Oh yeah, did I mention I bought us a fountain?” Vaughn asks. Apparently not, although Fulgham doesn’t seem to mind.)

The rear of the space will be the last to reach its full potential. Vaughn hopes to set up an open kitchen and full bakery there, instead of sharing the kitchen with Grace. But for now the refinished brick room will be a place for cooking classes and tutorials on cheese and wine pairings.

Breakfast and lunch entrées will run from $6 to $8. The restaurant portion of Au Fond will be open daily from 6:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., and the retail shop will be open until 7:30 p.m. Vaughn aims to offer the same quality food as Grace but in a more family-friendly environment, with a focus on breakfast and a retail business unique to the neighborhood.

“Our goal is to create a timeless place that can root into Cooper-Young,” Vaughn says.

Au Fond, 938 S. Cooper (274-8513)

Already open down the street from Au Fond is The Reef, a laid-back take on its predecessor, The Blue Fish. The new eatery will certainly benefit from the name change. According to Reef chef Tim Foley, deliveries were routinely mixed up between Blue Fish and the downtown restaurant Bluefin.

But the change won’t be in name only. While the plan is to keep most of the Blue Fish menu, owner David Meredith hopes a combination of more reasonable portion sizes and smarter buying on his part will improve the restaurant’s price points. “We had become a place where you go for special occasions,” Meredith says. In addition to slashing the prices nearly in half, Meredith hopes to keep things more casual, become a “place where the locals go,” and maybe even attract a younger crowd. Other changes include lightening up the space with brighter paint and decorating the walls with work by local artists.

They haven’t gotten their liquor license yet, so in the meantime it’s BYOB. Check out the Reef for dinner, Monday through Saturday, or for Sunday brunch.

Categories
Music Music Features

Conduct Yourself

The musicians of the Memphis Symphony Orchestra (MSO) know a thing or two about working without a resident conductor.

Longtime conductor David Loebel resigned almost two years ago. Musical director candidates have taken his place over the past season, conducting symphony shows as they vied for the position that eventually went to Mei-Ann Chen. But the symphony’s new Opus One concert series won’t require the services of a conductor at all.

Instead, members of the Memphis Symphony’s chamber orchestra will conduct themselves in this concert series featuring alternative venues, nontraditional music, and audience participation. Opus One kicks off Thursday, March 4th, at 7 p.m. at One Commerce Square (in the lobby of the former Sun Trust bank) downtown.

“There will be no [conductor] waving [his] arms. Instead, we’ll be watching each other’s body language and breathing together,” violinist and concertmaster Susanna Perry Gilmore says. “Things are a little more amplified when you don’t have somebody to watch. We have to listen at a very intense level. It’s challenged and stretched me as a player.”

Modeled after New York City’s conductor-less Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, the MSO’s Opus One series was developed as a way to break down the “wall” between the symphony and the audience with the hopes of attracting a younger demographic.

As for musical choices, musicians will perform classical pieces in the first half of each show, but those will be followed by more contemporary works. The One Commerce Square show will feature big-band chart-toppers, and instructors from the Fred Astaire Dance Studio will provide on-the-spot dance demonstrations.

“We’re not going to sit on a stage. We’ll be on the floor, surrounded by the audience,” says Iren Zombor, assistant principal cellist. “To put people more at ease, musicians will talk before each piece about why they like the music and what it means to them. We want to take out the intimidation factor.”

“We didn’t feel like we were presenting something that had a broad appeal to a younger demographic — those people who like to hear live music but not if they have to sit for two-and-a-half hours in a formal concert setting,” Gilmore says.

A few MSO members traveled to New York City in September to study the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, which has worked without a conductor since 1972. Then in December, the MSO held an invitation-only test concert at the Clark Opera Memphis Center.

“We weren’t sure what to expect [at the December show]. Artistically and socially, it turned out to be a success. And now we’ve tried to tweak the flow of the evening based on audience feedback,” violinist Gaylon Patterson says.

Not only does the Opus One series have potential to attract a new set of symphony fans, it may also help MSO members develop as musicians. According to principal oboist Joey Salvalaggio, working without a conductor forces musicians to develop their own interpretations of a musical work.

“Everyone is encouraged to listen and comment. If you have an idea, we’ll put it in a trial phase,” Salvalaggio says. “When we try someone’s idea, they know that was their idea. They’re very conscious of ownership. That’s very different from how we operate with a conductor.”

The MSO has developed a code of conduct for Opus One rehearsals. When members have conflicting ideas of how a musical piece should be interpreted, each idea goes on trial, and if necessary, the group will vote.

“If we reach consensus and it’s not your idea, you have to get on board and put your ego aside,” Salvalaggio says. “It completely opens your mind. You hear an idea you wouldn’t have thought of, and it turns out to be amazing. You learn a lot about music that way.”

During regular symphony performances, the MSO may operate with as many as 80 musicians. But Opus One will never feature more than 35 musicians at one time. “It’s very hard to play without a conductor with more than 35 people,” Gilmore says.

Full-orchestra, conductor-led shows at the Cannon Center will continue.

“We’re still the artists we were before,” Patterson says. “What we want to do is invite new friends into our circle and expose another side of our artistic personalities.”

Categories
Opinion

Storyteller from Iuka

Serve no wine before its time, and the same goes for memoirs.

Everyone may have a story but not necessarily a story that the rest of us want to hear. The good ones have perspective, emotional highs and lows, sharp writing, strange places, revealing glimpses of famous people, and humor.

Rheta Grimsley Johnson is known to many Memphians as the author of a book about Cajun Country and a biography of “Peanuts” creator Charles Schulz as well as a former columnist and award-winning reporter for The Commercial Appeal.

Now she has written a memoir called Enchanted Evening Barbie and the Second Coming, which comes out next week. It’s a good one.

After writing thousands of columns and driving a million miles to write about other people, she has earned memoirist’s rights. We meet her ex-husband Jimmy Johnson, the creator of the comic strip “Arlo and Janis”; the late humorist Lewis Grizzard and his fans at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution who hated Johnson; and an author who, by her own description, has always been harder on herself than anyone else could be.

This book probably would never have been written but for a tragedy. Enchanted Evening Barbie (the doll was on many a Christmas wish list in 1964) started out as a funny, upbeat Christmas story but took a different turn after Johnson’s husband, Don Grierson, died suddenly last March. The blues came down hard, leaving her heartbroken and struggling to get out of bed.

Never one to embrace social media or modern convenience — she uses a rotary-dial telephone and burns wood in a potbellied stove — she pretty much went off the grid for several months, hunkered down in her little farm house and “Le Jardin” at the end of a dirt road in a hollow near Pickwick Lake. She was a widow with three sad dogs, six acres, a second house in Louisiana with a tangled mortgage, a publishing contract to fulfill, almost no income, and a weekly column to write.

What once seemed like an unbearable burden became instead her salvation. She forced herself to sit down at her computer and write, and after a while the words started flowing. Not maudlin, not self-pitying, but with the stab of reality and the true pulse of life, like the songs by her musical favorites Hank Williams and Lucinda Williams.

She writes about her childhood in Montgomery, Alabama, college boyfriends at Auburn, a bittersweet marriage to Johnson (she reveals that she may look like Janis but is a lot more like Arlo), the time Sonny Bono called to ask her why she hated him, and the well-paid hell of succeeding Grizzard. Be careful what you wish for.

Grizzard was a curmudgeonly, chauvinistic, and wildly popular professional Southerner. One of his books is titled Elvis Is Dead and I Don’t Feel So Good Myself. Resented by Grizzard’s friends at the paper and all but forced out of her gig in Atlanta, Johnson titles one of her chapters “Grizzard Is Dead and I Don’t Feel So Good Myself.”

“My second column was about a gay country music singer from Tupelo,” she writes. “That was all it took. Letters arrived by the bushel, angry letters, most of them telling me to go back to Mississippi, do not collect $200.”

It’s one of the only instances of score settling in a book that, like a country song, has episodes of Momma, friendship, and violence but also leaves some things unsaid.

Her last assignment in Atlanta was writing cutlines for a photo spread on a county fair. That’s cub reporter stuff. She got the message, did the job, quit, and drove to Iuka and Fishtrap Hollow. I met her there a couple of weeks ago to swap a piece of Alaskan salmon for some CDs. We ate lunch with Frank and Eddie Thomas, the brothers from Iuka who produced the bluesy four-CD set Angels on the Backroads. The Mississippi Delta has nothing on Iuka when it comes to contemporary literary and musical talent.

Don Grierson was handy with tools and built a raised bridge across the creek next to the house. As a 2008 Christmas gift, the Thomas brothers hand-stamped a brass plaque for it with his name. They screwed it onto the bridge at his memorial service, which featured all Hank Williams all the time. The acoustics are very good in a hollow, and the songs of loneliness and tears, Rheta writes, filled the spring air “so we did not have to.”

Categories
Music Music Features

Many Voices, Many Rooms

What is folk music? It’s definitely acoustic, right? Not according to Bill Kirchen, who concluded his Saturday night set at the 22nd International Folk Alliance Conference with a Telecaster strapped to his chest and a mini-history of the rock-and-roll guitar riff that started with Johnny Cash and Duane Eddy and worked its way to the Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” with more than a dozen stops in between.

Okay, but folk music is definitely about the primacy of the song. Tell that to Australia’s Dardanelles, who launched into a set-opening instrumental with this: “We’re going to start out playing a few jigs. Any jig fans out there? This is the only place on earth where I can ask that question and get a response.”

Is folk music white? Well, mostly, judging by the conference demographics, but make room for Miami’s Lee Boys, a “sacred steel” guitar band that had the crowd literally dancing in the aisles at the end of Saturday’s showcase.

Surely, folk music is about “real” instruments. Well, that’s mostly true. But this year’s Folk Alliance Conference had at least one artist pushing against that notion in the form of Rattlesnake Daddy, whose singer, Ryan Hedgecock, was manning a sampler, looping recorded vocal snippets into a swirl of sound that included live accompaniment from violin, bongos, and a didgeridoo.

The Folk Alliance Conference, which took place February 17th-21st at the downtown Marriott Hotel and Cook Convention Center, with public satellite shows at a variety of local venues, is a gathering of a couple thousand folk/traditional musicians and industry professionals from around the country and abroad (with heavy contingents, in particular, from Canada and Australia). They come together to swap songs and do business under the direction of the Memphis-based Folk Alliance and its executive director, Louis Jay Meyers.

“We do not need to define folk music, because it is something different to each and every one of you,” Meyers wrote in his introductory letter. And the variety of sounds at the conference was impressive. The solo-acoustic singer-songwriters most people envision when thinking of the term “folk” were certainly the core style, but surrounding them was all manner of “traditional” music: honky-tonk (Texan James Hand, a ubiquitous presence), Western swing (Nashville’s Carolyn Martin, who led a terrific seven-piece band with Memphian Eric Lewis on guitar), gospel (the aforementioned sacred-steelers), blues (young Aussie hotshot Kim Churchill), classic rock (Kirchen), aging punkettes (Sons of the Never Wrong), and so much more.

The Folk Alliance following might not be concerned with definitions, but one emerges: Folk music is rooted in some kind of identifiable, long-standing tradition and is music that can be performed for — or, preferably, with — fans and friends in an intimate setting.

Intimacy is the hallmark of the Folk Alliance Conference, what it has over most other musical gatherings. The conference’s official “performance alley” showcase concerts take place in refashioned conference rooms with seating ranging from a couple hundred to a couple dozen. But even more striking are the widely encouraged “private showcases” in the afternoons before and the late nights after the official showcases. These took place in hotel rooms on the 17th-19th floors of the Marriott, with various artists, labels, and other entities sponsoring and booking the rooms. Conference attendees could walk the crowded corridors, music streaming from every open door, all welcome to come in and enjoy the show.

The MPress Records room, up on the 17th floor, on Friday afternoon provides a snapshot as to how these private showcases work: bed shoved against a wall, sheer blue and red sheets tacked to the wall to spruce up the hotel-room interior; two-liter bottles of soda poking out of the bedside table drawer; extra guitars stored in the bathroom; people piled on the bed and lined against the walls as two artists take turns on songs, each giving a very different idea of what “folk” music can be. Amy Speace, wearing jeans and playing an acoustic guitar, putting across sharp songs in a grave, strong vocal style, is in the Lucinda Williams rootsy singer-songwriter mold. Rachel Sage, with two-tone hair and fishnet sleeves, sits at a hand-decorated keyboard stand and plays a moody song with classical overtones. She’s alt-folk, with a mix of Ani DiFranco and Tori Amos.

Down the hall, Tangleweed, a five-piece bluegrass band from Chicago, is playing to a room that is otherwise empty until photographer Justin Fox Burks and I poke our heads in. The 5-to-2 performer-to-audience ratio is a little awkward for both parties, but the band plays on. Meanwhile, upstairs, a young Australian quartet, the Little Stevies, led by sisters Sibylla and Bethany, are blending beautiful harmonies into a folk style with potential indie-rock appeal.

Most of the performers at Folk Alliance are names unfamiliar to those outside the subculture, but there’s also an interesting subset of performers who have all had their respective “pop moment” outside the folk genre. On Saturday’s schedule there was: Raul Malo, of alt-country band the Mavericks, which scored a couple of Top 20 country hits and a Grammy win in the mid-’90s; Jason Ringenberg, whose country-punk band Jason & the Scorchers were kind of a big deal for a brief moment in the mid-’80s; Bill Kirchen, formerly the lead guitarist for the post-hippie, proto-alt-country Commander Cody & His Lost Planet Airmen, which went Top 10 in 1972 with their version of “Hot Rod Lincoln”; and Rattlesnake Daddy’s Ryan Hedgecock, who was once the lead guitarist for next-big-thing country-rockers Lone Justice in the early ’80s.

For most musicians, pop moments never come. And when they do, they tend to be fleeting. But music lasts, and that’s what these men were here for.

As a lifelong devotee of pop music, I have a history of demurring at assertions of musical authenticity or the superiority of the “real.” But it’s hard not to embrace the concept when you’re sitting in a small room, a few feet away, while Malo is singing or Kirchen is playing guitar.

Malo played to a small but packed room, and in that setting his voice — Roy Orbison with a Latin tinge — was astounding. He opened with “The Lucky One,” the title track from his most recent solo album, and when he leaned into the chorus, the room rippled with disbelieving chuckles, appreciative sighs, and shaking heads. I cared much more about Malo from 10 feet away than I ever have on record.

Ringenberg followed Malo with an energetic, self-deprecating set, noting that the first new Jason & the Scorchers album in a decade-and-a-half would be out this week, while the sticker on his guitar promoting his successful current alter ego, kids’ music performer “Farmer Jason,” served as a reminder that time moves on.

Kirchen played later, opening with a love song to the Telecaster, “Hammer of the Honky Tonk Gods,” playing a couple of Commander Cody’s trucker/road songs, and peaking with a cover of Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin’.” In concept, that cover choice seemed like a sop to the “folk” setting, but Kirchen’s reading was surprisingly fierce, transforming the selection from folkie cliché to living testament, Kirchen’s electric solos and riffs embedded in both the melody and the combative thrust of the song.

The success of these artists not only demonstrated how the folk scene puts music first but also suggests that it’s an arena that allows artists to age comfortably. But the gathering would suffer without a sense that there’s a future to be found as well, and I found it in the form of the Parkington Sisters, a Cape Cod quintet I went to see Saturday night after a tip from Folk Alliance director Meyers, who said they’d been getting great word-of-mouth at the conference.

The Parkington Sisters are actual siblings (“real name, no gimmick,” as someone in another genre would put it), ages ranging from 18 to late 20s. They began their set with three playing violin and two acoustic guitar, but cello, banjo, accordion, and piano filtered into the mix on subsequent songs. All five sisters sang, and four of them were fine vocalists. The other, 18-year-old baby sis Lydia, was something more — a great singer, with an unaffected but older-than-her-years voice that carried traces of confessional folk, blues, and jazz. She reminded me a little of a rootsier Fiona Apple, a grittier Zooey Deschanel, a younger, less-damaged Janis Joplin. The sight and sound of her — always sitting, her ever-present smile oscillating between sheepish and mischievous — sinking into a song was easily the most exciting thing I saw at Folk Alliance.

The band — all apparently classically trained but without a hint of stuffiness — cites Joni Mitchell as an influence, but I’d peg a different ’70s touchstone, another sister act: Kate & Anna McGarrigle. Their music — swapping instruments and vocals, trading knowing looks and helpless giggles — was swept up in a natural enthusiasm, radiating love — for music, yes, but more so for each other.

I was impressed enough that when honky-tonker James Hand was late for a private showcase set on the 18th floor later that night, I headed down to the 17th to catch the Parkingtons again in their room. When I walked in, Lydia was sitting on the floor, her four sisters playing behind her while she sang “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.” Since any friend of the Shirelles is a friend of mine, I found a stray spot on the edge of the bed and crowded in with a dozen or so others to watch the rest of a set every bit as winning as their official showcase earlier in the night.

The Parkington Sisters have apparently yet to release an official album, so who knows where they’re headed? But remember that name.

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We Recommend We Recommend

Leaps & Bounds

The ground floor of the recently restored Lowenstein Building is cavernous and empty except for a row of massive columns. The late-morning light streaming through large windows casts strange shadows all around, turning the dancers of Ballet Memphis into silhouettes as they warm up prior to an open rehearsal, a week before AbunDANCE: Joyful Noise opens for a two-week run at Playhouse on the Square.

“We would have even more public rehearsals,” says Ballet Memphis’ founding artistic director Dorothy Gunther Pugh. “So much depends on what spaces are available. We want our work to be available to everyone.”

AbunDANCE: Joyful Noise brings together a quartet of choreographers with distinctive styles and sensibilities that range from the percussive work of Robert Battle and Trey McIntyre to the whimsical classicism of Czech choreographer Petr Zahradnícek. Jane Comfort, a postmodern choreographer originally from Oak Ridge, Tennessee, has developed a piece scored by Memphis’ Grammy-nominated saxophonist Kirk Whalum.

Although all of the music has been recorded, the dancers will perform with live musical accompaniment on opening night.

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Book Features Books

Homecoming

The word “wench”: by definition, it referred to a girl, a young woman, or a maid in the 13th century and a wanton woman, a mistress in the 14th century. But in the 19th century, in America, wench could refer to a man’s mistress or to a black female servant of any age — which is what Lizzie, in a new novel called Wench (Amistad/HarperCollins), is: a slave in the pre-Civil War South and mistress to her owner, a white man named Drayle with a plantation outside Memphis.

But outside Tennessee, say, in the free state of Ohio, Lizzie would not only be slave and mistress, she’d be Drayle’s openly accepted companion at Tawawa House, a resort known for its cool springs and healing waters, which made it popular with Southerners. And it’s there that Lizzie meets other women — slaves and mistresses — over the course of several summers in the early 1850s: women such as Reenie, Sweet, and Mawu, who’s up from Louisiana with plans for escape.

Dolen Perkins-Valdez

Such a thought crosses Lizzie’s mind as well, but she has two children back in Tennessee, and she has Drayle to think of too — a man with all the allegiances to his race and to his class one would expect him to have, but he’s also a man capable of displaying uncommon tenderness when it comes to Lizzie and his children by Lizzie: a boy named Nate and a daughter nicknamed Rabbit. And as for Drayle’s wife, Fran? She herself lives according to the codes of public and private conduct that allow for such arrangements — not the least of those arrangements: Fran in one bedroom of the “big house”; Lizzie across the hall in another bedroom; both of them dependent on Drayle, subject to Drayle.

What becomes of the fictional Lizzie and Drayle and the whole cast of characters in Wench is the fine work of debut novelist (and native Memphian) Dolen Perkins-Valdez. But as for the real-life Tawawa House: The land it sat on became, in 1856, the site of Wilberforce University, a school expressly founded to educate African Americans, a fact that first caught the novelist’s attention — that and the fact that among its first students were Southern-born offspring of unions such as Lizzie and Drayle’s.

Perkins-Valdez — White Station High School grad; Harvard grad; creative-writing grad from the University of Memphis; and today a teacher in the writing department at the University of Puget Sound — splits her time between Washington state and Washington, D.C. But as she said in a recent phone interview, she keeps her hometown very much in mind. Memphians, in turn, have kept her in mind.

“My sales in Memphis have been phenomenal,” Perkins-Valdez said of Wench. “Up until a couple weeks ago, a full 10 percent of my sales were in Memphis, which is huge. Memphis can be a loving, supporting place when it comes to its own.”

The author then explained just how supportive:

“I had a reading in New York on January 16th, and it was with another author, a New Yorker. She’d been named by New York magazine as a writer ‘to watch.’ So people were pouring into the place, people she knew. I’m thinking nobody’s coming to see me. Then a group of 20 old Memphis friends walked in. It was nothing but love, and it deepened my love for my hometown” — a hometown Perkins-Valdez returned to after college and a year spent abroad.

That was when, after flipping through a U of M catalog, she took a course in creative writing from Tom Russell and, according to the author, “loved” it. And then, armed with an MFA in 1998, she married, gave birth to a daughter, and continued writing, with one short story landing in the prestigious Kenyon Review. After working on two or three “apprentice” novels, she felt Wench was “the one,” but she waited until the manuscript was “really ready.” And, apparently, it was. She got an agent based on it. Six months later, Amistad agreed to publish it. And six weeks after publication, Wench is going into its sixth printing — a sound start for any novel; a terrific start for Dolen Perkins-Valdez, debut novelist.

To learn more about Wench and about its author, go to dolenperkinsvaldez.com. And to hear directly from the author, go to npr.org, where she talked to Lynn Neary of the NPR News program Tell Me More. But to meet the author, be on hand when Dolen Perkins-Valdez reads from and signs Wench at Rhodes College. The event, on Wednesday, March 3rd, begins at 7 p.m. in Blount Auditorium inside Buckman Hall. For more information, call Rychetta Watkins of Rhodes’ English department at 843-3445.

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Film Features Film/TV

Mr. and Mrs. Tolstoy

The Last Station arrives in town with better-than-normal box-office hopes buoyed by a couple of high-profile Oscar nominations: Helen Mirren for Best Actress and Christopher Plummer for Best Supporting Actor.

Plummer is Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy, the author of War & Peace and Anna Karenina. Mirren is his wife, Sofya. The film is set in 1910, late in Tolstoy’s life, when he has morphed from merely the world’s most famous living writer to the head of a movement.

There is a commune dedicated to the Tolstoyan philosophy — an ascetic creed dedicated to pacifism, celibacy, vegetarianism, and other beliefs of which Tolstoy himself isn’t always a strict practitioner — surrounding the family’s summer home, and the great man himself is surrounded by followers whom Sofya considers to be parasites and sycophants. When one contends that Tolstoy is a prophet, Sofya chortles: “God, this is unbearable. No wonder I’m lonely. I’m surrounded by morons.”

The film’s conflict is over the rights to Tolstoy’s work. Chief acolyte Vladimir Chertkov (Paul Giamatti) is counseling Tolstoy to make the rights public upon his death, as a gift to the Russian people and as an extension of his personal philosophy. But a disgusted Sofya, seeking to protect the estate on behalf of the couple’s children, will have none of this. Caught in the middle is Valentin Bulgakov (James McAvoy), a young Tolstoyan hired by Chertkov to be Tolstoy’s personal secretary and, he hopes, his own spy, but who also becomes something of a confidant to Sofya.

McAvoy, whose big break came in a similar “witness to ‘greatness'” role in The Last King of Scotland, is the audience’s entry to the story and in some ways the lead character. His Valentin is a true admirer of Tolstoy and is at first dedicated to a philosophy he may not fully understand, as the film shows him gradually disabused of his rectitude and certainty by Tolstoy, Sofya, and, finally, Masha (Kerry Condon), a comely Tolstoyan who bemusedly equates sex between the two as “making [Valentin] forget God.”

Adapted by director Michael Hoffman from a novel by Jay Parini, The Last Station is not a conventional biopic. It requires little knowledge of — or, frankly, interest in — Tolstoy’s work. And I suppose one could argue that it lacks the heft of its subject matter.

Hoffman’s highest-profile credits are decade-old Hollywood semi-hits One Fine Day and Soapdish. The Last Station comes on more like an unusually juicy and smart TV movie than it does great cinema. It’s an extravagant acting piece that is written with zest if not exactly a strict adherence to history. (This is, after all, a Russian period piece populated by scenery-chewing British actors.)

Plummer plays Tolstoy less as a great man than as a wise old codger who understands he’s treated as a great man. And Mirren goes for broke. Her Sofya smashes the china, lashes out at the proto-paparazzi littering her yard, threatens two suicide attempts, and summons her husband home with a false report of illness but a real desire to get him back into her bed.

This is not an art film, for better or worse. It’s just a terrifically entertaining movie for smart grown-ups, which is an increasingly rare treat.

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Opinion The Last Word

The Rant

Hello, again, Dalai! And hello, again, people who worry about the size of their penises. Yes, those men in charge in China got mighty upset about the dangerous Dalai Lama visiting and meeting with Barack Obama in Washington the other day and, in fact, had asked him to cancel it. Seems they just can’t forgive the dude for wanting human rights violations to stop and for wanting Tibet to be independent of them. It’s kind of like Texas, only the women don’t have really big hair and Tibet doesn’t breed as many crooked politicians.

And while he didn’t get fist-bumped like he did when he was in Memphis (I still think that was one of the coolest things that’s ever happened here), he did meet with Obama, not in the Oval Office but in a somewhat less significant room of the White House, to downplay things a little. All of this seems ridiculous to me. If we want to have the Dalai Lama visit the U.S. capital and meet with the president, so what? Let Beijing get a life. And while they’re at it, they might want to do something about that haze of pollution hanging in the air. It looks like the cigarette smoke in my house, just on a much larger scale. And let them come on and join us. Bring on Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Let’s see what he has to say — and get him off in the corner and let him know that, ahem, yes, there are homosexuals in his country.

The point is to not let old grudges take up so much time. Communicate. When I first heard that China was pissed off about the Dalai Lama’s meeting with Obama, I laughed out loud and thought it must have been a joke. But I guess when it comes to land, power, money, religious views, and such, they take things pretty seriously. Sounds like the United States, the country where if you are a white male and you intentionally fly a plane into a building you are a criminal, but if you are Middle Eastern and you wear funny shoes you are a terrorist.

And what about that guy? I’m telling you, people better watch out. It wouldn’t surprise me if that starts happening more and more. You can screw with some people until they snap and can’t take it anymore. When you’ve got the government taking and taking and taking from you and you work hard and try to be fair, and then they give it to large financial institutions to bail them out and then officers of said financial institutions go on over-the-top, lavish retreats and get bonuses of hundreds of millions of dollars on top of the hundreds of millions of dollars they already make, some people are going to get mad as hell and not take it anymore. Dear God, I am starting to sound like Sarah Palin! Someone give me a Percocet, STAT!

It’s like when I am trying to watch Law & Order rerun marathons and every six or seven minutes Marie Osmond appears on the screen hawking that diet food you can order. First of all, I don’t want to be reminded that I am fat, and second of all, she is wearing more makeup than I wore when I was a guest clown in the Ringling Brothers Circus. It looks like a Halloween costume. She freaks me out. I bet she has the spices in her kitchen cabinets arranged in alphabetical order. And I am tired of her being thrust upon me without my asking. I could easily snap. I’m not going to fly a plane into a building because I get dizzy driving on interstate overpasses, but I could snap in my own way. I could drive out to one of the mega-churches and put “I’D RATHER BE HITTING MY CRACK PIPE” bumper stickers on all of the cars. I could hack into Mark Sanford’s e-mail and send him naked photos of Jack Black. Or I could just break into Marie Osmond’s house and rearrange her spice cabinet and send her over the edge so she would have to be locked up and never, ever appear on television again. That way, there would be more airtime for Toby. Yes, Toby, the dog that scoots his butt across that woman’s carpet and makes her scream. Now, that is a great commercial.

Oh, well. If only it were a perfect world. Maybe I’ll get in touch with the Dalai Lama. If he can straighten out Tiger Woods, maybe he can keep me on track.