Some months ago, I was listening to MPR.  I think it was Radiolab, but I can’t remember.  It was one of those wonderful Saturday afternoon shows, and Radiolab seems like the show on MPR’s Saturday afternoon lineup that would talk about this sort of thing.

In short, I hadn’t heard of pho until I listened to this story in Radiolab.  (I know.  Shameful, considering Minneapolis doesn’t have a shortage of such a thing, especially considering the offerings we have on Eat Street alone.)  And it wasn’t until my friend Amy took me to a restaurant called Pho 79 on that very street where I fell in love with pho.  I think it was mid-January during a really long cold spell.

For those who don’t know, pho is a Vietnamese soup of broth, some kind of meat (I usually prefer these beef ball things), and rice noodles.  Once it arrives at the table in a really quite large bowl that makes you think they brought enough for two, they usually provide bean sprouts and Thai basil and a lime or two for you to add, and then it’s also traditional to add some fish sauce and chili sauce, mix it all up, eat it with chop sticks and those deep ceramic spoons that you can sip from.

The word “soup,” though, doesn’t quite do it justice, as soup suggests something that’s kind of boring that’s made in three hours (including the simmer time).  The broth of pho uses beef bones and oxtails that have been simmering for hours and hours, though.  (No really… for hours and hours.  I’ve seen suggestions for restaurant quality broth to simmer the broth for twelve hours or more.)

It’s a wonderfully delightful dish, pho, and I highly recommend eating it in the winter months when it’s very, very cold outside.  It just seems like the most perfect thing to warm up to on a weekday evening after a long day.  Really, it is.  It’s fantastic.

Something that irks me, however, is that no one in this country seems to know how to pronounce it.  (Well, no one in Minnesota, anyway.  I’m not sure about elsewhere, as I haven’t had the chance to listen to other people on the outside pronounce pho.)  Just tonight I was at Chino Latino in Uptown (that gold, glittering place on Hennepin and Lake), and I wanted a virgin drink, as I’ve been drinking way too much lately and my mind hasn’t been working properly very well.  There was a drink that caught my eye called Auntie’s Pho.  I asked the server what it was, as there wasn’t a description, and she had to look at what I was pointing to because she didn’t understand my pronouncing pho correctly.

“Oh!  Aunti’e Pho is just like Uncle’s Pho,” she said, pointing out the uncle version on the menu, “except that it doesn’t have the alcohol.”

Needless to say, she pronounced pho incorrectly.  I wanted to try to slip in a few extra phos (“Oh! It’s like the Uncle’s Pho except without alcohol!  Cool!” / “Yes, the Uncle’s Pho.” / “OK.  I’ll try the Auntie’s Pho, then.”  “The Auntie’s Pho?”  “Yes, the Auntie’s Pho.”  “Are you sure you want the Auntie’s Pho and not the Uncle’s Pho?” / “Yes, I’ll have the Auntie’s Pho and not the Uncle’s Pho.” / “OK.  So one Auntie’s Pho.” / “Yes.  One Auntie’s Pho.” / “Auntie’s Pho, did you say?” / “Yes.  Duh!  I said Auntie’s Pho!” / “OK.  One Auntie’s Pho.”) in order to passively and annoyingly try to get her to pronounce pho correctly (or, at least, get her to talk to her coworkers after and say something like, “So this guy was pronouncing pho wrong, and I didn’t know what he was talking about,” in the hopes that someone would respond and say, “Actually, he was pronouncing it correctly,” and then hopefully get more people to pronounce pho correctly), but I didn’t quite work up the nerve to pronounce it correctly a couple more times.

But, seriously.  Whenever anyone pronounces pho incorrectly, my left eye squints ever so slightly, and my head jerks about 17 millimeters to the left while remaining on the transverse plane.

I think I have such a reaction because when I listened to that story on Radiolab some months back, they pronounced pho correctly (thus adding to the stereotype that public media is the more sophisticated media) so I heard it pronounced correctly the first time (granted, they did talk about the common mispronunciation later on), whereas I heard bruschetta pronounced incorrectly the first time, and so I don’t have quite the same dramatic reaction towards bruschetta being pronounced incorrectly than I do when people pronounce pho incorrectly.

(By the way, it’s pronounced pho, an assonance of fun and lung, not pho, an assonance of known or bone.)

(If you didn’t know how to pronounce it until now, maybe re-read everything up to here so that things might be a bit more funny.  Or maybe they won’t.  Maybe things will just be a bit more annoying.)

But, of course, the humanist in me must accept that language is living, and it’s thanks to the inherent malleability of the English language that we have so many more words than, say, French.

Still, we sound like idiots when we pronounce pho as if it rhymes with Margaret Cho.

It’s June.  Specifically, it’s the end of June, which means that LGBT communities and our allies are celebrating “Gay Pride” in all corners, a reminder to everyone around us that we exist, that we have been persecuted against, that we fight against such persecution, and that we are still so hated among some corners that some of us would rather be dead than live a life as someone who doesn’t quite love another person in the same way that most other people do.

But, not only does this month serve to remind everyone of these inequities, it is also a time to celebrate the full spectrum of sexuality and gender, and for many people everywhere, it’s a terribly wonderful time.

While the 1960s saw Annual Reminders take place in the form of pickets on 4 July at Independence Hall in Philadelphia to remind people that no laws and no actions can stamp out an entire people, the morning of 28 June 1969 saw police raid the Stonewall Inn in New York City, spring boarding the Stonewall Riots that made way for the modern pride celebrations that now occur all over every June.

The oppression of us is well known (if you don’t know, then I suggestion you read more), so I won’t dwell on it here.  But, what is also well known is that public sentiment towards the LGBT community and our allies has flipped dramatically in our favor.  And it all seems like this occurred overnight.

When watching Queer as Folk, it sometimes feels like the show is being overly dramatic when it explores how much we were oppressed at the turn of this century.  These were the days when a horribly despicable, unintelligent, and embarrassing man was elected to the office of the U.S Presidency (and not by popular vote), who wanted to write discrimination into the Constitution, defining marriage as between only a man and a woman.

It’s easy to forget that this was happening merely 10 years ago, when now we have a president who has overturned the ridiculous Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy of the military and who openly endorses marriage for same-sex couples.  Furthermore, the people of states everywhere are voting to legalize same-sex marriage, or federal courts across the country are overturning mean-spirited amendments to ban same-sex marriage.  The fact that same sex marriage is now supported by majorities in this country is simply remarkable, considering that roughly 3% of us are gay, which means we now have millions of straight allies on our side, and that is absolutely fantastic!  A Gallop poll in May 2014 indicates 55% of Americans now support legalization of marriage between two people of the same gender.  Even more exciting still is that 8 in 10 young Americans are now in favor.  Absolutely remarkable, this, when in 1996 support for marriage for same-gendered couples was at a dismal 27%.

Progress indeed, through and through.

But, again, this is all obvious.  It is well known the progress we’ve made.  (Again, if it isn’t, then you don’t pay attention very well and should get out more.)

All of this, however, is just to help you to understand how I currently feel about pride celebrations in 2014.  I absolutely and resolutely adore pride in the Twin Cities, but a part of me can’t help but think that pride month will have to rapidly transform itself very soon, mainly because so many other things are changing very quickly, from marriage rights, workplace discrimination, to bullying in schools.  Or, if they’re not changing very quickly, lots and lots of us are talking about how to change things in order to protect those of us who feel like there is no way forward in a life as a gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgendered individual, and so choose suicide instead.  Things in 1969 were terribly and horribly different, and I remain forever grateful towards those early trailblazers.  It is now 2014, and we’ve done so much work.  It’s really quite remarkable.

Even still, what should pride become?  In 50 years, when marriage will be legal across all states, when two girls in 6th grade call themselves girlfriends and sneak secret kisses at the top of the playground slide just like the girl down the street who does the same with her boyfriend, when it is unthinkable to use the word gay as a pejorative in the way that is is unthinkable to call Brazil nuts by that ghastly horrible alternative, what purpose will these Annual Reminders serve?

I suppose pride month will continue to serve as a reminder so that we never forget where we were and what we came from and the work we had to do to get here.  We may have marriage for all in Minnesota now, but we mustn’t ever forget the hard work so many people did to make that a reality.  Pride month may certainly become a celebration of what is possible.

Pride month will also no doubt continue to serve as a reminder that there are many corners on this planet that are not so fortunate, that women are still forced to wear ridiculous clothes in the name of modesty, that it is still a crime for certain people to love certain other people, that it is still bizarre and strange that the very idea that someone’s biology at birth isn’t an indicator of their true gender.

But, still, how fabulous it is in the meantime!  How wonderful it is that we live in a place such as this!  How grateful we all are towards our straight allies who stand with us!  How remarkable the tenacity of the human spirit!

Go out!  Celebrate as you do!  Come as you are!

There are no closets here to step out of, only open doors into a universe of our own identities to become acquainted with.

On Tuesday 24 June I attended Mixed Precipitation’s Midsummer Swig at Open Eye Theatre, a benefit to raise money for their picnic operetta.  It was a fantastic evening of drinks (including sangria and watermelon margaritas), food (the salmon, melon, basil affair was fab), and music (the Bernstein was particularly enjoyable), all amongst the friendliest kind of friends.

The operettas the group performs late in the summer quite wonderfully combine two very marvelous things: music (of course) and food.  But, not just any food.  A whole five course tasting menu using foods grown locally right here.

And not just any music.  Last year they performed a retelling of Beethoven’s Fidelio with a secret agents twist.  This year we will be treated to punked English opera, a telling of King Arthur.

If this wasn’t wonderfully marvelous enough, they perform their operettas in community gardens and various other green spaces.  I thoroughly dislike those horrible audience-performer divides that happen all too easily on stages in concert halls.  While I understand that that setup has its time and place, I’m increasingly excited that groups like Mixed Precipitation are bringing music to these unconventional spaces.  Snooty opera brought down a peg or two, indeed.  What more could we ask!

In order to bring music and locally grown food to these spaces, Mixed Precipitation currently receives generous support from such organizations as the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council and the Twin Cities Opera Guild, in addition to the Wedge Co-op, the Eastside Co-op, Mississippi Market, Gardens of Eagan, Women’s Environmental Institute, and Coastal Seafoods.

But, they also depend upon donations from music and food and garden enthusiasts like you a la other great organizations like Minnesota Public Radio.  (Are you a sustainer?  I am!  Start today!)  So, I urge you to make a donation to this glowing gem we have right here in Minneapolis, so that you can become a part of a phenomenon that is permeating the metro in every blade of grass, every savory sensitivity for fare, and every heart for music.

I get paid this Friday.  How much will you give?

And I hope to see you later this summer for some Arthurian legends!

The Mall of America’s website indicates that Star Trek: the Exhibition promises to be “one of the largest collections of authentic Star Trek artifacts and information ever put on public display. A truly impressive array of exhibits features sets, costumes, priceless museum pieces and props from numerous Star Trek television series and Star Trek feature films.”

Sadly, this description borders on a lie, if not an outright lie.

For $17 you can walk into a mostly empty space to look at so-called authentic artifacts behind plexiglass, great swaths of the props qualified with the word “replica.”  As I came up to the first such display of communicators, most if not all props in the display were replicas, if my memory serves.  From then on, the whole exhibition became a game of, “spot the genuine article,” as there were so many replicas strewn about like bric-a-brac amongst the real things that it became more interesting to view the exhibition in this light rather than simply be inspired by so-called “meticulous craftsmanship.”

And the replicas weren’t even very good.  The replica of Geordi’s VISOR was a paint-chipped piece of junk, and I’ve seen better replicas at Comic Cons that weren’t behind flimsy plexiglass.  It’s one thing to view the real thing where you expect to see years of wear-and-tear, but it’s another to view a replica that’s seen years of wear-and-tear.  Just give us a newer replica, please.

After a walk through a minefield of real and fake props, you get a chance to see the captain’s chairs from the Enterprise-D and B,  in addition to the Klingon captain’s chair from Star Trek III,  I believe it was.  So, while it was cool to imagine, “Wow!  I’m looking at a prop that Patrick Stewart sat in,” I couldn’t help but be reminded of those cheapened facsimiles.  Did Sir Patrick’s bottom really grace its presence on the chair sitting before me?  I wasn’t sure to be too sure.

Then there was what could only be a re-creation of one of the computer consoles of the Enterprise-D engineering room (the main, center one that sat before the warp core).  I indicate “could only be,” because we were actually allowed to touch the console, pretending to bleep away as we pushed buttons and things, imagining that the ship was being rocked about by Tholians.  There was another re-creation of the original series bridge set, except that Spock’s little periscope was on the wrong side.  While it was cool to sit in Kirk’s chair with your legs crossed and pretend to move to a shaking camera, it was all cheapened.

There was also a collection of costumes from various different Star Trek franchises as well, from Kirk’s uniform and Khan’s clothes from Star Trek II, Janeway’s uniform from Voyager, Troi’s blue dress, and while you expect to see these things to show their age with frayed hems and balled material, it all still felt like I was walking through someone’s living room or basement or garage, looking at a master collector’s personal museum of items that they picked up over the years at car boot sales and eBay auctions, except that the collector was duped into buying fakes.

As my friends and I walked out of the exhibition feeling robbed and trodden upon, we had to make our way through the Macy’s where suddenly everything even in Macy’s seemed cheapened and plasticized.  It didn’t help that as we walked through the skyway between Macy’s and the parking garage that there were evergreens planted on the roof, branches sagging with Christmas lights (yes, Christmas lights still on the trees in almost June), the poor dears seemed to call out, “Oh my god.  I was moved from a tree farm in the open air to the roof of a monstrosity of a building.”

It occurred to us a bit later that these trees, too, were fakes, adding insult to injury.

I’m not sure who would actually enjoy Star Trek: the Exhibition.  Maybe little kids whose imaginations have yet to be spoiled by the horrible pangs of reality.  But, I think even kids are smart enough to realize that what this exhibition has on display is nothing more than saddened memories of the actual saga.

If the advertisements for this exhibition would have been a little more truthful, then I wouldn’t have felt to write such a scathing attack on the experience.  But, who would go to something that promises, “really bad replicas,” “moth-balled clothes,” and “phony sets.”

Maybe you would, I don’t know.  But I want my $17 back.

If there’s one thing to be thankful about Star Trek: the Exhibition, is that it’s given me yet another reason never to visit the Mall of America ever again.

So, a couple exciting things to announce.

First, if you are in the Pittsburgh area at all, Clocks in Motion will be performing at the Pittsburgh Festival of New Music on 25 May at 5pm at the New Hazlett Theater.  Duo Scordatura and the East Liberty Community Engagement Orchestra will also be performing.  The ELCEO will be performing excerpts from The Rite of Spring, arranged for children’s orchestra by F. Garcia-De Castro, and the rest of the concert features Cage’s Third Construction, Dave Alcorn’s Four Minatures (world premiere), and my very own Percussion Duo.

It’s all terribly exciting, of course.  Throughout these past six months or so, my music seems to be slowly making its way eastward, from Madison to Interlochen and now to Pittsburgh.  So, that’s nice!

Looking farther into the eventual path of time’s arrow, I am happy to announce that I will continue this eastward trend to attend the Bennington Chamber Music Conference in Vermont as one of three composition fellows, joining Ben Stonaker and Liza White.  And we three will be joining composers-in-residence Ted Hearne, Sean Shepherd, and Laura Schwendinger, and senior composer-in-residence Donald Crockett.  Sadly, our times won’t overlap, but I will have the pleasure of working with Laura Schwendinger and Donald Crockett for week 3 of the festival, 10-17 August 2014.  I’m currently working on a wind quintet, for which I haven’t written in some years now.

I’ve never been to the New England area, so this is just an absolutely fantastic way to finally become acquainted with a region of the world that has long fascinated me.

Now I just need to finish that wind quintet…

What a wonderful weekend indeed!  A Dr. Who convention came to the Twin Cities for the first time in 20 years in a new incarnation known as CONsole Room.  In attendance were a host of authors and writers including Christopher Bahn, Dr. Arnold T. Blumberg, Graeme Burk, Lars Pearson, Robert Smith?, and Kathryn Sullivan.  The guests of honor were the brilliant Sophie Aldred who played Ace opposite Sylvester McCoy’s seventh Doctor and the wonderful Deborah Watling who played Victoria Waterfield opposite Patrick Troughton’s second Doctor.  Most importantly, however, was that over 500 people attended the event that promises to appear next year and hopefully for years to come.

CONsole Room happened at the Hilton in Bloomington right outside the MSP Airport. And while not an event the size of the recent Wizard World that happened a couple weeks ago at the Minneapolis Convention Center, I am so happy that I attended this wonderfully quaint little affair with hopes that CONsole Room will just continue to grow and grow and grow.  At the same time, I adored the unassuming smallness of the convention, as it allowed for some more intimate and meaningful conversations with Aldred and Watling that was impossible to experience at Wizard World when all people wanted to ask Matt Smith to a crowd of hundreds was what his favorite football team was.

Even more so, though, everyone who attended were the warmest and kindest people ever, and they all knew that they were a part of something quite special.  It was so nice to be surrounded by people who listened intently as Deborah Watling told us stories of how her favorite scene to film was when she saved the world from a certain furious seaweed monster from the deep by using her amplified screams, or how Sophie Aldred told us stories of how she became involved with Tree Fu Tom, a children’s show that aims to help children who live with dyspraxia improve their motor skills.

In addition to the guests of honor and the eclectic mix of writers, there were numerous panels throughout the weekend that discussed topics from the Sarah Jane Adventures, cosplay, the missing episodes of the 1960s, to the music of the show.  I was honored to be on panels that discussed horror in Dr. Who, the various producers of the series, and how newcomers to the Whoniverse can possibly even begin to acquaint themselves with this massive realm.  Everyone had a genuine interest in what we all talked about, be it what each producership brought to the series to what episode will probably most likely never be seen ever again (“The Feast of Steven,” sadly) due to the BBC’s shortsighted practice of erasing videotapes and destroying film prints of the early episodes.

We definitely were all geeks among geeks, and what a fine thing that is, to be sure!  There aren’t many places where I can say a sentence like, “Philip Hinchliffe is, without a doubt, my favorite producer of the entire series, and he presided over the strongest three years the program ever had,” to a room full of people who, first of all, don’t flinch at such a sentence, but also genuinely wanted to know why I think that.  And how fantastic it was that, while in the dealer’s room, I could purchase three volumes of About Time, an analytical anthology to Dr. Who’s long history on television, at a discounted price while also talking with the dealer about our favorite essays in the anthology.

So, CONsole Room 2014 has come and gone, and I can’t wait for CONsole Room 2015.  (Is it really already going to be 2015?  It feels like 1999 was just two years ago.)  And if you attended this year and had a fabulous time (and I didn’t seen anyone there who didn’t look like they were having a fabulous time), spread the word.  This was a convention bigger on the inside, and I look forward to the dimensions within to continue to grow.

Minneapolis Dr. Who fans should all know by now about the return of a convention dedicated entirely to the Whoniverse itself: CONsole Room.  This is the first Dr. Who convention in Minneapolis in over 20 years, and they’ve got special guests Sophie Aldred and Deborah Watling booked to appear as guests of honor.

The festivities begin Friday 16 May at the Hilton MSP Airport.  Among things they’ve got planned are various panels, live commentaries of The Web of Fear and Dragonfire, a live podcast, karaoke, interviews with Aldred and Watling, among other events.

And I’m happy to announce that I’ll be joining in on some of those panels, the topics which include horror in Dr. Who, the various producerships of the series, and how an earth to dive into such a vast universe of stories.

I hope to see you there!

There’s a new place in town.  And it’s fantastic.

Imagine, if you could, if you please, white tiles that wouldn’t look out of place in a kitchen from 1907 or so but in a kitchen where the upstairs would never go, but the downstairs always do, counterpointed with rustic, heavy wooden chairs and tables that belonged more in a settler’s home from the West from 1868 or thereabout, exposed air ducts, a kind of golden tiled ceiling, food a mix of traditional American fare rooted deep in European tradition (cheesy macaroni, chicken pot pies), a modest selection of wines and beers, and pastries of the most wonderful kind.

This is a new restaurant on Eat Street, and it’s a wonderful new addition to this ever vibrant area of town: the Copper Hen (isn’t that just a fantastic name!), located at 2515 Nicollet Avenue.  Not only is their food absolutely delicious of the wonderfully savory variety, salivary glands on overdrive long after consuming vibrantly flavored dishes served on simply white dishes with unassuming napkins of white with minimally blue stripes, but they have a lovely eye for pleasing aesthetics of interior design.  Check out their website, too: so simple and easy, and their restaurant so warm, inviting, pleasant, and unassuming, yet you’re surely dining in a kind of upscaled style of the relaxed variety.

I managed to happen upon this place on their opening night.  They were still finding their feet in terms of how to ring up your orders, but that’s to be expected, and I wouldn’t expect anything less, because such inaccuracies shed a delightful bit of humanity on their venture.  And their venture is quite fabulous indeed.  I’m glad to have them around.

This weekend I did a bit of local site seeing in Stillwater and Minneapolis with my mum.  It’s always nice to get out and about and do things that tourists do, even if what you’re doing is just down the way and you might pass by the thing on a somewhat daily routine.  But, it’s amazing what you can see if you open your eyes, look, and view things in a way that you may not have viewed in quite the same way before.

I was on a mission, however.  I have a butter dish that doesn’t quite go with my kitchen’s aesthetic.  Imagine, if you could, yellow walls, green canisters for coffee and flour, blue towels, broadly-striped curtains, and outlined-less prints.  I suppose things don’t necessarily match, but they go.  Unfortunately, I have a kind of teal butter dish with a shell on top that doesn’t quite go let alone match.

So, the first stop in Stillwater was a really quite fantastic antique shop called American Gothic Antiques, a shop I’ve been to before.  This is quite the gem of an antique shop.  Unlike it’s neighbor across the street, Midtown Antique Mall, American Gothic is the kind of antique store that doesn’t have, as a small 10 year old boy in Midtown exclaimed, “Humongous junk.”  American Gothic actually seems to bother to hold a standard to the things they have for sale (i.e. they sell bits of bric-a-brac you actually want).  And they also seem much more fairly priced, too.

The first thing that caught my eye was a set of metal plant stands, unfortunately, not a butter dish.  This tends to happen in antique stores.  You never really know what to expect to take out of them even if you have a strategic mission.  I’m somewhat obsessed with house plants, however, and need places on which to place the plants.  I’ve got three hanging from the ceiling (a Boston fern, a spider plant, and a Christmas cactus).  I’ve got one sitting on the floor (a snake plant).  I’ve got one sitting on top of a radiator (an oak leaf ivy).  I’ve got three on stands (a poinsettia, a  cactus, and a peace lily).  And then two that didn’t really have a place (an African violet and another cactus) for which these plant stands were perfect.

Upstairs, I came across a marvelous set of LPs.  I filed through all of them and found some more wonderful gems: Billy Idol, the Police, Duran Duran, Asia, and U2.  I’ve been longing to find XTC’s Black Sea on vinyl for quite some time, but it wasn’t to be on this particular day.  It’s out there somewhere, obviously.  I just need to happen upon the right store on the right day.  And this wasn’t the right store and the right day to find the right butter dish either.  Still, it’s out there somewhere, obviously.

A sojourn to Stillwater wouldn’t be complete without a little trip to the waterfront to view the lift bridge.  For some reason I momentarily forgot that it was spring, and that with spring comes swollen rivers, and that with swollen rivers comes swallowed embankments.  It’s still fascinating, the natural swelling of rivers that gets interrupted because of concrete or steps or walls.  And always a site to see, though, flooding.  Lamp posts in the middle of the river, if not a wood.

The other place that is worth a visit is Tremblay’s Sweet Shop.  It’s right by American Gothic, and its window display is always tantalizingly magnetic.  They had these fantastic wads of chocolate and pecans (they called them pecan turtles), spherical confections of more chocolate filled with peanut butter or fudge, and then more fudge that lied about the place like overweight caterpillars that slowly oozed themselves out of giant bowls.  But, caterpillars that tasted of decadence and sin.

Speaking of sin, we decided on a whim to check out the basilica in downtown Minneapolis.  I’ve been meaning to go inside for quite some time.  I’ve driven by it, biked by it, walked by it countless times, but I’m not entirely sure if I ever went inside.  Today was the day.  As we made our way inside, I was surprised how many other people were going inside.  I glanced quickly at their service times to discover they’ve got several services on Sunday, and we happened to arrived ten minutes before the 4:30 one began.  So, there we were, my mother and me (fallen away Catholics), going to mass.  It was all very strange.

It’s a gorgeous building, however, as much as I disagree with the idea of spending opulent amounts of money on something that should really be much more modest, as befits a carpenter of limited means.  (Indeed, why have buildings at all?)  However, I suppose in building such decadence they created some jobs and employed some people who got some money in their pocket, so that’s nice.

Even still, I was amazed at how much the building rejoiced in the goddess.  She was everywhere.  Very central.  The usual statue of Jesus crucified was a small affair off to stage left, as it were.  But Mary was idolized very prominently above the altar, and there were countless stained glass windows (well, I suppose you could count them) chronicling her life (if she were, indeed, real to begin with).  It is the Basilica of St. Mary, after all, but her prominence was still staggering.  Having been raised Catholic, I understand how important Mary is to followers of this persuasion, but this seemed beyond measure.  But in a good way, somehow.

It’s always strange going back to a Catholic ceremony.  For years and years it was fun to go to church because I rather enjoyed the obsessive compulsive nature of Catholicism’s mantras and hand motions and regalia.  Now my obsessive compulsions are met through video games, Dr. Who, and music, but at one time Catholicism helped to fill part of that gap.  But, every time I do go back, I’m reminded that I’m glad I left.  It’s just not for me.

But for millions of others, it is for them.  And that’s just fine.

A pity about the Dark Ages, Galileo, women, and gays, though.

Last night, I visited Aesthetic Apparatus for the very first time.  They are a commercial art and printmaking studio whose portfolio includes work for Surly Brewing Company, the Criterion Collection DVD series, Minnesota Public Radio’s The Current, among others.  They are ridiculously modest, as they state on their site: “…our work is a bit too commercial for ‘fine art’, and our studio is a bit too messy for ‘graphic design’.”  Even still, their work featured at the Walker Art Center in 2011 in the exhibition Graphic Design: Now in Production.  I’ve rather come to dislike definitions of whether something is “fine art” or not (especially if it involves some kind of check list), preferring instead to default to, “It’s fine art if the beholder deems it so, whoever they are,” much in the way Luciano Berio defined music as, “Music is everything that one listens to with the intention of listening to music.”

Aesthetic Apparatus is located in the hipsteryist of hipster areas in Minneapolis, Seward, home to hipster hangout, the Hexagon; the neighborhood accessible by hipster bikeway, the Greenway; where you can buy hipster food from the hipster grocery store, the Seward Co-Op.  And don’t deny it, hipsters, as much as you dislike being called hipsters, as you are hipsters if someone looks at you with the intention of looking at hipsters.  Many of the clientele at last night’s event were wearing thick-rimmed glasses, had their right pant leg rolled up, held their bicycle helmet under one arm, were checked in red and black flannel, chose to drink either an IPA or a pilsner from a keg, and purchased prints of bold colors that belong in coffee shops where menus are written on chalk boards.  Perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit, but you get the idea.

In any case, Aesthetic Apparatus is right at home in Seward, and their “messy” design that’s apparently not quite “fine art” fits in well with a neighborhood that epitomizes a desire to outwit classifications, interminably failing in trying to do so because words become conscious of themselves far too quickly nowadays.  Their design is bold, vibrant, rough around the edges yet controlled and decisive, wonderfully honest, loud but not obnoxious, and perfect for people like me who have certain hipstery tendencies (although perhaps with a Bohemian touch), who can hang their art on a yellow wall where it vibrates colors in a spectrum of timbres.

To continue the evening filled with one stereotype after another, the duo, Bombay Sweets, graced us with their appearance and their sounds from 1963, because, if anything, hipsters will forever be linked to the musics of the past and through musics that sound like they’re from the past through the original hipster, Bob Dylan.  Bombay Sweets freely admits themselves that they were “born on reels of a dusty 50’s [sic] DuKane tape machine discovered at a suburban Minneapolis garage sale.”  (My friend, Zabby, and I couldn’t decide when it sounded like they came from, me preferring the 60s, him preferring the 40s, but what do you know?  Just average our thoughts and you get the 1950s!  And sorry for the bad picture to the right.  It was all I could manage.  That’s Nathan Grumdahl, one-half of the duo.  Jeff Brown would be on Nathan’s right, playing a cocktail drums setup.)

The sound of Bombay Sweets marvelously counterpointed the images of Aesthetic Apparatus, both worlds essentially representing a perfect symbiosis of bold sounds and loud colors.  The duo clearly comes from the surf tradition, and I imagine that they, too, might consider themselves too messy for graphic design and too commercial for fine art, but that is immaterial, because this Bohemian hipster listens to Bombay Sweets with the intention of listening to art.  I love their modest and imaginative setup of pedals to extend the lower sonorities of their range, and the fact that they ended their all-too-brief set in the less commonly heard 3/4 time as opposed to what we usually hear from groups like these, 4/4, made me appreciate their sounds even more.  Even more wonderfully, if you go to their press photos, you’ll see that they, too, like me, have an affinity for yellow walls.

So, do go check out Aesthetic Apparatus, if you could, and be sure to seek out Bombay Sweets, if you wouldn’t mind.  They’re the perfect combination of ingredients for a Saturday night in Seward.  Don’t forget to roll up your right pant leg as to avoid getting grease on it on your way over.  It’s terribly pragmatic.