There was hope for the Memphis Tigers tonight, down only six points (28-22) with just under five minutes to play in the first half at Gonzaga. But then the third-ranked Bulldogs outscored their guests 15-2 over the next four minutes to create what amounted to an entire second half of garbage time. Przemek Karnowski (victim of the famous Joe Jackson block just less than a year ago) led the Zags with 17 points and Kyle Wiltjer added 15 to help Gonzaga (22-1) earn its 15th straight victory and 38th straight win at home. The Tigers fall to 13-8 with the loss.
Down 18 at the half (43-25), the Tigers found themselves down 22 (63-41) midway through the second half before going on an 11-1 run. But the U of M never closed within 10 points down the stretch, making this the seventh of eight losses by double digits.
Memphis took an astounding 74 shots (27 more than Gonzaga) but made only 26 (35 percent). They outrebounded the Zags (36-35), pulling down 16 offensive boards, and forced 14 turnovers. But the Tigers hit merely four of 16 shots from three-point range while Gonzaga was eight for 16 from long range.
Austin Nichols (12) and Nick King (13) were the only Tigers to score in double figures. Shaq Goodwin started after missing most of the Tigers’ previous game with a mild ankle injury but did not score. Trahson Burrell scored nine points and grabbed eight rebounds off the bench.
Gonzaga made 22 of 33 free throws, compared with eight-of-fourteen shooting from the line by the Tigers.
Memphis will play its final nonconference game of the season next Wednesday night when Jacksonville State visits FedExForum.
Wanda Wilson, the flamboyant and much-loved long-time proprietor of Midtown’s P&H Cafe, has died. Wilson was beloved by generations of Memphis’ artists, actors, journalists,students, and eccentrics of every stripe. The P&H was a legendary watering hole, home to countless of the city’s “poor and hungry” creative types.
Read Toby Sells’ definitive story on Wanda and the world of the P&H from the December Memphis magazine here.
The president just signed historic accords with India on climate legislation and nuclear trade, before making a pit stop to pay respects to the leaders of America’s gas station, Saudi Arabia.
Mitt Romney is considering a third run for president so the American people can finally get it right.
ISIS is on the move in Syria, and the government of Yemen just collapsed.
Bibi Netanyahu, also known as George W. Bush in wingtips, is campaigning for reelection as Israeli Prime Minister, only in front of the U.S. Congress — without prior knowledge or approval by the White House — as the guest of John Boehner.
In Iowa, Sarah Palin made an incomprehensible speech at Representative Steve King’s “Freedom Summit,” then told The Washington Post that she was “seriously interested,” in running for president.
And a crippling blizzard is headed for the east coast that New York Mayor Bill de Blasio warned may be “one of the largest snowstorms in the history of this city.” Memphis freaks out over three inches of snow. Try an expected three feet, which would set records from Philadelphia to Boston and affect nearly 30 million people. Take that Al Gore.
Jerry Coli | Dreamstime.com
Tom Brady New England Patriots
But screw all that: The NFL discovered that during their conference championship game, the New England Patriots used under-inflated footballs.
I could write four paragraphs of balls jokes, but that’s far too easy. And since this has been the lead news story on every network for a week, I’ve heard every smarmy, double-entendre testicle reference in the history of broadcast news, from Rachel Maddow to Jimmy Fallon. I now know more about Bill Belichick than I ever intended.
I guess I’m as big a football fan as the next jerk, only I’m not emotionally invested in the outcome. I enjoy watching pro football because it’s a brutish and violent game played by mutants. If you asked me my favorite team, I guess it would be the Packers, because the citizen/stockholders of Green Bay actually own the team. If you ask me my least favorite team, it would be those with the loud-mouth owners who give high-fives in their luxury boxes while actually believing that what they say has any bearing on the game. Also, those owners that mix their personal, partisan politics with sport.
The NFL is just a billionaire’s playground where team owners play their own, exclusive version of fantasy football. It’s become an industry that has grown like kudzu around what was once a game. Since pro football is the American substitute for gladiatorial war, it has become the perfect vessel for carpet-bombing advertisements, and nothing does it better than the Super Bowl. Can I use that word without sending somebody a check?
Billions of dollars will be spent in and around the Super Bowl on product placement, branding, Hollywood-produced ads, entertainment galas, including the world’s biggest halftime show, and particularly sports betting. Only the outcome is pertinent. The game is secondary to the commerce. With record amounts of cash spent on commercials, the Super Bowl serves as the quasi-Black Friday for awards season.
The game will be played in Glendale, Arizona, at the University of Phoenix Stadium. Of course, the University of Phoenix is a for-profit, online, kollege of knowledge with no actual campus, and thus has no football team to play in its stadium. Like good corporate citizens, they merely bought the naming rights and changed it from what was Cardinals Stadium. So, the Super Bowl played in the University of Phoenix Stadium is like a scam within a scam. Everybody gets paid. Except for the entertainers. The Wall Street Journal reported that the NFL approached Rihanna, Coldplay, and Katy Perry to play the halftime show, but asked the musicians to “contribute a portion of their post-Super Bowl tour income to the league,” or alternately, “make some other financial contribution,” in exchange for the halftime gig. Perry is this year’s special attraction. I sure hope she’s not paying those greedy bastards to play.
In summary, the Patriots are cheaters owned by Robert Kraft of Kraft Foods, whose net worth is around $4 billion, and who has a son who worked for Bain Capital in the ’80s. They have a coach with a shady reputation and a quarterback who’s married to a Brazilian supermodel, makes $40 million a year in salary and endorsements, is said to have a near-genius IQ, and “did not alter the ball in any way,” even though he admitted he preferred them slightly deflated in a previous interview. When asked if he was a cheater, Brady said, “I don’t believe so.”
They play the Seattle Seahawks, owned by low-key Microsoft billionaire Paul Allen, who also owns the NBA Trailblazers. According to SeatGeek, the average ticket price is going for $3,262. Wouldn’t it be ironic if the monster snowstorm headed for Boston caused widespread power outages on Super Sunday? I hope by then they will have finally stopped talking about “Deflategate.” The only thing I have to add to that conversation is that Tom Brady’s balls aren’t as big as he thought. The Santa Ana winds are doing biblical-like, wildfire damage in California, and there’s a measles outbreak in Disneyland. And I’ll take the Seahawks and the points.
Just in time for the Sunday evening faceoff between the Seahawks and Patriots, DJ Paul shares a few of his Super Bowl party do’s and don’ts.
In a segment presented by First We Feastand Complex, the self-proclaimed King of Memphis encourages people to avoid bringing shitty bean dip, keep a cooler full of beer, and play Three 6 Mafia during halftime.
Check out DJ Paul’s full list of do’s and don’ts below.
DJ Paul Shares His Super Bowl Party Do’s and Don’ts
It’s time for another edition of the round up. Friday and Saturday provide lots of chances to rock before you become one with the couch on Super Bowl Sunday.
FRIDAY JANUARY 30TH:
Hanna Star, 5:30 p.m. at Goner Records.
Weekend Roundup Part Three (6)
Will Sexton, 6:00 p.m. at Lafayette’s Music Room.
The Memphis Ukulele Band, 8:00 p.m. at Otherlands Coffee Bar, $7.00.
Mighty Souls Brass Band, 8:00 p.m. at The Cove.
Backup Planet, CBDB, 9:00 p.m. at the Young Avenue Deli, $5.00.
Youth Pastor Jason, Gopes Busters, Taylor Loftin, Rickie and Annie, 9:00 p.m. at the Lamplighter Lounge.
That’s the frequent question that perplexes Chicago native and recent New Orleans transplant Katherine DeLacey, who usually laughs it off.
Asked as a joke or not, there’s still curiosity in how Memphis is viewed by a newcomer, especially by one with a designer’s eye. Katherine is a graduate of Tulane University’s Master of Architecture program and now works as an architectural designer with Looney Ricks Kiss Architects.
“Memphis has great bones. Downtown Memphis has domineering buildings that could rival those of any American City. While the handsomeness of the city was instantly obvious, its dynamics were not. Memphis operates differently than the other cities I have lived in, it has a small town feeling in a big city, and that is extremely charming to me,” Katherine says of her first impression of the city.
A downtown resident of only five months, she has already been a part of one of the most anticipated redevelopment projects in Memphis – the Tennessee Brewery.
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“The Brewery is an opportunity to set up an anchor for South Main. South Main is wonderful as it is, but this will be the landmark that is talked about and desired,” she observes. While in the early stages of design, the conceptual plans and programming were recently disclosed — 142 residential units, a 280-space parking garage, and 8,000 square feet of commercial space.
There isn’t much more that can be revealed about the Brewery yet, but there are a few details that Katherine personally finds intriguing as a key design production member of the architectural project team.
“Within the Brewery, there are 58 units and 30 different unit types. While that makes our work more time consuming, there is something wonderful in providing potential tenants with so many options. To me, that’s a selling point. Not only do you live in the sexiest building in town, but within that building your unit is like no other. Also, some of the walls are 3 feet wide. I don’t know if that is interesting or not,” she says.
Why Architecture?
“My grandfather was an architect, and my mother was a graphic designer. She had a fascination with architecture and made a point out of bringing me to pretty much every Frank Lloyd Wright building open to the public when I was a kid. She guided my path towards the field and enjoyed every minute of it,” she says.
Beyond just the Brewery, Katherine sees lots of great assets in Memphis that might get dismissed. “What might surprise me the most about Memphis, in particular downtown, is that there are not more people here. Living in downtown Memphis has been incredibly convenient. I walk to work, walk to grab a bite to eat, and walk to bars. When friends visit from Chicago, they cannot believe how much I have at my disposal in walking distance and not in a polar vortex.”
Living in a downtown apartment with a large dog can feel a little cramped. She pulls out a photo and remarks that he’s bigger than me. “I would love to see a great dog park downtown since they are such a pleasant way to meet your neighbors and spend time outside. There is this dog park in Dallas called Dallas’ Mutts Cantina that allows people to grab drinks and eat while watching their dog play. Something like that would be amazing and create a fabulous energy.”
An Understated Style
Bag and Coat, Zara / Shirt, SWABY – Shernett Swaby / Shoes, UAL (United Apparel Liquidators) in New Orleans
The all-black modern attire may scream architect or at least someone in the design field, but there’s more to Katherine’s view of style that her clothes can’t say for her.
“I was raised as a bargain hunter. My mom taught me to see potential in the rejects on the sale rack. I think that relates to my interest in architecture. It gives me pride to think that I can imagine what a reject could look like, or what could accompany it to make it work. I love the classics, especially when they have been rethought in a subtle modern way. To me, that is more interesting than something that is ‘in-style’ or a brand new building. I can always do without a bad trendy print.
“About one-third of my wardrobe is from thrift stores or consignment stores, one-third from stores like Zara, and the other one-third is from my Grandma, Grandpa’s, or mother’s closet. Yes, I wear my grandpas old clothes. I love wearing grandpa’s old raggedy silk shirt with crisp black skinny jeans.”
I would like— if I may— to take you on a strange journey. It seemed a fairly ordinary night when Bill Andrews— a Rocky Horrorveteran— sat down in a sturdy, conservative, high-backed chair to tell the story of Brad Majors and Janet Weiss, two young ordinary healthy kids from the happy, perfectly normal town of Denton, on what was supposed to be a normal night out… a night they were going to remember for a very long time. While Andrews is (as always) spot on as the musical’s narrator/criminologist, this introduction underscores everything that’s wrong with Playhouse on the Square’s incredibly fun, undeniably fab, but somewhat gutted production of Richard O’Brien’s decadent, glam-rock fairy tale. While Dr. Frank-N-Furter is obviously the star of this horror show, its story is presented as a case study: The strange tale of Brad and Janet, their harrowing journey out of innocence. It’s basically Engelbert Humperdinck’s Hansel & Gretel, but with electric guitars, aliens, and erotic candy. And for all of the goodness that happens in this production, it really is unfortunate that, after the opening sequences, these two characters— finely acted by Jordan Nichols and Leah Beth Bolton almost fade into the background, and none of the other characters are ever allowed to really savor their moments in the spotlight. Once Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Jerre Dye— you might have heard of him) prances on stage as everybody’s favorite Transvestite, it’s hard to even see anybody else.
I haven’t loved everything Scott Ferguson has directed, and have occasionally pointed out some measure of predictability in his always solid, sometimes brilliant work. But the POTS regular and I share some overlapping aesthetic interests, and when I want something visual, that’s not too abysmal, I can usually count on Ferguson to deliver the goods. I even had an opportunity to work with him a few years back on a rustic, and completely perverse production of The Robber Bridegroom at Rhodes College, which is relevant only because he built that entire production around the idea of a quilt— ragged scraps of fabric expertly crafted into something colorful, inviting, and transformative, but ultimately very familiar. Although there is nothing rustic about this Rocky, like a quilt, the whole is greater than the sum of its weaker parts. And for all of my quibbles, it may the craziest thing Scott Ferguson (Pronounced “Frunk-un-schteen”) has ever stitched together.
Madness Takes Control: POTS “Rocky Horror’ is built to make crowds go wild
There are basically two ways to stage Rocky Horror. You can either highlight the musical’s narrative threads, a weave of British pantomime by way of the Brothers Grimm, and tropes of classic Drive In cinema. Or you can say goodbye to all that and give yourself over to absolute decadence. Ferguson chooses the later, which makes his show short on dynamic tension, but big on jolts delivered directly to an audience’s pleasure centers. His vision of Rocky Horror is a pansexual psycho beach party fantasia complete with fast (but faulty) cars, zombies, and tons of choreography.
If you’ve heard that Jerre Dye’s performance as Frank-N-Furter is the greatest thing that ever happened, you’ve not heard wrong. Make no mistakes, Dye’s not an extraordinary singer, and there’s not a lot of nuance in the vocal performances. But he knows how to strut (and sell) his stuff, and if this show has any moral at all it’s “FUUUUUCK NUANCE!!!” The watch-cry here is “More excess!” and you shall have it in abundance. This Frank-N-Furter walks on stage snorting face powder (or something from a compact), and you feel the kick. You can see the mind go “PING” as Dye skips, and sniffs, and licks, and condom-snaps his way through a dense thicket of bits and gags that are devilish and delightful but make it impossible to see many actual details in the show’s original architecture.
Everybody’s favorite song will be different, I’m sure, but if Rocky Horror has a musical heart it’s “Hot Patootie” (“I Really Love That Rock-and-Roll”). With it’s 1950’s swagger, and it’s PG-rated backseat make-out lyrics, it’s the heteronormative baseline from which all else is extrapolated. On top of that the number delivers a lot of backstory about Columbia and where Rocky got his brain. It’s the dimmest spot in POTS floorshow, and treated like a throwaway until Frank breaks out his chainsaw to end it.
Columbia barely exists, Riff and Magenta (all fine) show up to do what’s expected of them and not much more. And poor Janet, almost ignored by Dye’s Frank, gets the shortest end of the stick, so to speak. Her seat-wetting song, “Touch Me (I wanna be dirty),” feels like an orphan. Compared to everything else in this show, it’s downright sanitary.
Fantastic pulp-inspired costumes by Caleb Blackwell.
Rocky Horror super nerds who’ve seen more than one local revival may recognize what appear to be a number of Easter Eggs built into Memphis’ fifth, (and POTS fourth) production of the show. The silver spaceship, the “Double Feature” flashlights, and the chainsaw splatter scene, all call to mind earlier attempts. But for all of its originality, the biggest and most obvious tribute to productions past may be Jerre Dye’s outrageous, overstuffed, down-and-dirty “big ol’ [Southern] sissy” (his words) take on the megalomaniacal scientist from Transexual Transylvania. At key moments the singing, and uninhibited choice-making powerfully echo Mark Chambers, the homegrown actor who played the role twice in the 1990’s, and whose Circuit Playhouse performance made an indelible impression on a much younger Jerre Dye. The seeming tribute is especially obvious when the music swells, Dye accesses his lower vocal registers, and belts out lyrics like a Ms. Man-Thing possessed.
To borrow an idea from Mary Shelley and a line from songwriter Stephin Merritt, I think this show needs a new heart. But, then again, who needs a heart when you’ve got such a smoking hot body? Given a chance all this sexy silliness can actually suckerpunch you with an emotional wallop you never saw coming. The wind-up starts when Eddie and Columbia are separated in “Hot Patootie.” The fist tightens when Frank discovers the line between extreme and “too extreme.” It lands as Brad and Janet struggle to find their way back home in the haunting “Superheroes.” And we’re left to contemplate time, space, and meaning in the wistful, minor key reprise of “Science Fiction Double Feature.” We don’t really get to experience any of that this time around, and in the complete absence of emotional and narrative content, even a short show can drag. And so does this, at the end, just before the spaceship launches. Emotion is a powerful and irrational master, but so is pleasure. And, based on what I eagerly viewed on stage at Playhouse on the Square last week, the audience was clearly its slave. Using almost no scenery, and some inventive projection POTS energetic, mostly able ensemble, delivers about as much fun as a person can have with their clothes on. Or half off. Or even fully off in some truly pathetic cases. You know who you are.
The Pinch District won’t be removed from the National Register of Historic Places, not yet anyway.
State officials said the district has lost the historical character that garnered the listing in 1979. Too many of the original buildings there have been demolished, they said.
But the decision to remove the Pinch from the list was delayed earlier this week by the State Review Board of the Tennessee Historical Commission. The board also deferred a vote on the move back in September.
State Senator Lee Harris said he met with members of the commission before the vote this week.
“it was clear to me that they want to hear as much input as possible from preservationists and small business owners, who have waited so long for redevelopment,” Harris said in a statement.
Harris promised a town hall meeting for preservationists, Pinch District business owners and other members of the community. No date has yet been set for the meeting.
Among the many changes wrought by World War II was the birth of the American war movie. Newsreels produced by the likes of John Ford were accompanied by dramatizations of the exploits of America’s brave fighting men, such as Howard Hawks’ Sergeant York and Flying Tigers, starring John Wayne. These films served as wartime propaganda for the Allied side, produced by an artistic community trying to do its part. The good guys and the bad guys had to be easily identifiable, a skill Hollywood picked up from making westerns and Saturday morning serials. After the war, moral ambiguity crept back into film. 1946 saw both William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives and Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, stories about people on the front lines and on the home front wondering if it was all worth it. In England, Stairway to Heaven saw David Niven arguing before a court of angels that the actions he took in war were just.
But then a funny thing happened: American audiences decided they liked the moral certainty of wartime propaganda, and Hollywood, which always does what puts butts in seats, gave them more of it with films such as Sands of Iwo Jima. In 1955, real-life American war hero Audie Murphy, awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor at age 19, played himself in To Hell and Back, the dramatization of his wartime memoir. The war that created the need for propaganda was over, but military propaganda had become a genre in its own right.
Perhaps that history can shed some light on the success of American Sniper, which has soared past $200 million in box office in two weeks. Unlike World War II, the War on Terror provided no moments of catharsis. Bin Laden was shot offscreen, necessitating the creation of the last great military propaganda movie, Zero Dark Thirty. But with its female protagonist and recognition of the moral complexity of asymmetrical warfare, it was no Flying Leathernecks.
Sienna Miller as Taya
Fortunately, Clint Eastwood knows how make a real, old-fashioned war film. He was in Where Eagles Dare with Richard Burton. He was also in Kelly’s Heroes, but American Sniper is not about to paint its real-life hero Chris Kyle (Bradley Cooper) and his band of SEAL sidekicks as cynical rogues in uniforms out for plunder. Nor is Eastwood here to contemplate the wisdom of Bush’s great blunder into Iraq. The single worst decision in American foreign policy history is announced with a celebratory cellphone call that interrupts Cooper’s wedding to Taya (Sienna Miller). Iraq’s connection to the 9/11 terrorists is implied but never stated; the words “weapons of mass destruction” are never uttered.
Eastwood’s not here to rehash the debate over the Iraq War, he’s here to make the people who were duped into it feel better about that $2 trillion they just buried in a hole in the desert. He aims to make Cooper into John Wayne for the generation that spent the best years of their lives in Fallujah. His directorial mode seems to be, “Do it like we did it in the old days.” And he’s right! The old ways were better, at least when it comes to film craftsmanship. Eastwood’s battle sequences have a clarity and tightness hacks like Michael Bay can’t begin to touch. There’s nothing the least bit expressive or off-putting in Eastwood’s lighting or framing. He understands classical film grammar and knows how to deploy it to maximum emotional effect.
American Sniper is about, and for, the men — and it’s all men — who did their duty bravely in Iraq. That they were sent on a fool’s errand doesn’t matter to them, to Eastwood, or to the audience. American Sniper is not shy about dividing the good guys from the bad guys: Kyle calls the Iraqis “savages.” But Eastwood understands that heroes should behave heroically. Unlike the recent Fury, he doesn’t portray American soldiers as rapists who shoot POWs in cold blood. Kyle only kills “military-aged males” — and women and children who really deserve it.
Much has been made of American Sniper‘s alleged historical inaccuracies, but it doesn’t matter. I’m no expert on military protocol, but I’m pretty sure Kyle’s habit of calling his wife while in the heat of battle is frowned upon. But those tearful calls lend a good, emotional punch to a scene. To paraphrase another great American war movie, Apocalypse Now, charging a man for lying in a movie about a war based on a lie is like handing out speeding tickets at the Indy 500.
Gimp Teeth play Carcosa tonight with Greyscale, Coma Regalia, Wounded Knee and Neev. What exactly is Carcosa? Other than the weird torture church on HBO’s True Detective, it’s a house in East Memphis dedicated to putting on DIY shows. Check out music from each band below, then get to 1286 Wedgewood Avenue by 7:00 p.m.
Jerry Coli | Dreamstime.com 
Josh Miller