Friday, January 29, 2010

Hit City Debuts Different Beat Radio

Hit City studio owner and long-time Indy musician Tim Brickley shares with IndySocial the debut of his new podcast channel, Different Beat Radio. The first installment of the show features an exuberant Brickley breathlessly presenting two indie bands from Michigan who've recently laid down tracks at Hit City Ann Arbor's Monument Valley and Rosetta Pebble from Detroit.

"Different Beat was the name of a Indianapolis music magazine I helped publish for two runs, in the late-80's, and mid-90's, " Brickley writes on his blog.  "It's going to be a radio show about all the music I'm involved with at the studio: recordings-in-progress, interviews, live performances, material from the vast Hit City archives.  The approx. 20 minute show was a blast to do, and I hope it will become a great way to share all the good stuff we're doing here with all of you."




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Friday, January 22, 2010

Tab Dis Ignites Hoosier Blogosphere

A furor has erupted across the Hoosier blogosphere, over some not-so-complimentary comments by a New York City tabloid reporter. In his New York Daily News column and blog, Matt Lysiac wrote that being a tourist in Hoosierland was about as exciting as watching corn grow. The rude East Coaster complained that there was nothing to do in Indy for the tourist, beyond Starbucks and cow tipping.

Apparently things are tough in the big city, because the Big Apple tab hack felt compelled to detail just how much better NYC is as a tourist destination. Duh. It is the #1 Tourist Destination in the country.

However, the obvious slight has hit a sensitve local nerve. Indy Social has heard and seen plenty of chatter today from the likes of Indy Star columnist Cathy Kightlinger who have a thing or two to say in defense of the Circle City.

What do you think?










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Sunday, January 10, 2010

Another Saturday Night

By IndySocial Columnist Sally Staffer

“First things first. Let’s go over the rules of the road.”
The voice belonged to this evening's designated driver. We were four grown-up girlfriends who had set out for a night on the town, and he had agreed to play chauffeur.

“There’ll be no smoking,” he continued in a friendly but firm tone. “Let’s keep the car conversation down to a small roar. No screaming. And, please, ladies, contain your backseat driving to polite instruction…I know I can’t restrain you completely.”

The gaggle erupted into giggles, and we were off. Destination downtown: Athenaeum.

The sisters and I were headed to a rock show. We’d read a lot about this “Hoosier Dylan” tribute, and were curious. The event was put together by Indiana’s departing poet laureate, Norbert Krapf, and the roster read like a who’s-who of Indy's working rock community. We were excited to go.

“Now I don’t know much about Dylan,” said one of girls as our journey began. “I think there’s only five songs I can sing.”

The giggle gaggle pulsed. They knew the driver was a Dylan freak, and had agreed to squire the group tonight, and to remain sober, in part because he was eager to hear the local heroes perform some of his favorite songs.

“Hmm. And what five are those?” he inquired.
“I don’t know the names,” she said. “but I like the one that goes something like, and stiffly she began: ‘you’re a big girl now.’ ”
Immediately, in a voice resonant of Hokey Wolf, our chauffeur recognized the tune, and completed the lyric with a cartoonish caricature rendition: “you-Re Invisi-Able now, You’ve-got-no SeCrets to reveaaal. How does it feeeeal?....”
And together the car erupted in a glad chorus:
“TO-BE-ON-YOUR-OWN, LIKE A ROL-LING STONE.

"Take Fall Creek,” a lone voice interrupted the singing.
“No. No” disagreed another. "Keystone to 70 West."
This last one belonged to the girlfriend of our designated driver. Long ago we discovered that she was the one among us who always carried the good purse -- the one with the tissues and gum and other lifestyle essentials -- and ever since we'd naturally agreed to listen to her.

Excuse me dear readers, I have forgotten to mention the reason for tonight’s designated driver. You see, we four old friends had decided that this particular Saturday Night soiree out was to be a slumber party – and we envisioned a sloshy one at that. We began the evening early with an extended cocktail hour, and we had stuffed our jammies into our purses and were on the road to staying out late. One of us had even decided to wear a swim suit under her clothes, because, as she explained, you never know -- any night could end in hot tub splash, and she wanted to be prepared.

“Get in the middle lane. Take Michigan Street” a voice called.
“There’s no right turn," retorted another take Delaware.
“Alabama”
“No, no, no, New York”
It was hard for the driver to distinguish the individual voices. The gaggle spoke in tongues. A cacophony of competing instructions filled the vehicle.
“Just pick one, ladies,” he pleaded, taking a long gulp from his bottled water. “I feel like Washington crossing the Delaware.”

“Did you see that truck?" Screamed Drunk Girl No. 3.
“Where? Where” returned the chorus.
“Keep your eye on the road cupcake,” responded the ever-diligent driver.
“Where do you want me to go?" he pleaded as he pointed the touring car toward the exit, and began our quest for convenient parking. And again, everyone had an opinion.
“It’s colder than a witches tit out there, let’s park close. I don’t want to walk too far.”
“Not here, too slushy.”
“There, there.”
“Back it up, baby,” instructed the girlfriend, and dutifully the driver complied and eased the sedan into a snow-packed spot.

The group spilled onto the curb, and after making several mis-attempts at “entering the building,” paid our $18 entrance fee and made our way into the auditorium. Following the bass boom into the dark room, we discovered the place to be packed, but eerily still. Hardly a sound could be heard, as a sleepy crowd sat numbly through the elongated set.

There were no vacant seats left to accommodate all of us , so I left the gaggle and made my way on my own. I had, of couse, reserved a place with a friend of mine, so I push my way through the crowd and settled in to enjoy the show with him.

My compatriots, left to stand in the wings balancing their cocktails and craning their necks around ornate columns to catch the show, quickly grew impatient with the Dylan tribute.

"Snooze Rock" sniffed the driver. "Adequate but uninspired." The gaggle agreed, and they departed after the first set, in search of livelier fare. Later, I found them downstairs at the Rathskeller, where they had crashed a Polish wedding - Rumba-ing the night away alongside a bevvy of college girls in short skirts and long boots and their guys in sneakers, buzz haircuts and Colts colors.

While my friends rocked it out to Benny and the Jets, I stayed upstairs, enjoying the tinkling sounds of Gordon Bonham, Jason Wilber, Jennie DeVoe and Tim Grimm. So many of my Indy Social friends were there. David Yosha, joined the party for some drinks, fresh from the studios of Magnet Films, where is he putting the final touches on a very cool, very top secret project. The Phoenix Theatre's Bryan Fonseca was there with the lovely Sharon Gamble (Art of the Matter). IBJ heavyweight Lou Harry was ensconced in one of the comfortable seats, holding court while we watched from the periphery. And so many more.

Back downstairs at the bar, I found the rest of my entourage munching away on fried German mustard balls and doing the hokey pokey. I returned upstairs for the rest of the second set, and was happy I had stayed to catch the lovely dark Stella.

I really enjoyed the show. But out of my friends, apparently I was the only one.

The gaggle moved en masse down the street, and alighted at the nearby Chatterbox, where the erstwhile David Andrichik was standing his usual weekend animated watch: “Great to see you” he effused, grasping our hands and welcoming us into his club.
He warmly pushed us through the crowded venue, and whispered into my ear, “I’ll talk to you later, Sally”

The Chatterbox was all aglitter and still quite festive even after the holidays. This place is a tiny slice of Hoosier Manhattan. I made my way through the storefront-bar and found my friends happily snapping away on iPhones, spouting impromptu haiku.

Despite the cold outside, the place was steamy, and everyone was bopping to the sounds of The Impossible Jazz Collaboration, accompanied by a talented young reed player. When I asked around, a fellow imbiber told me her name was Shawn Plonski, and then recounted a most curious tale. According to the story, this young talent had begun her jazz career at the Chatterbox. As an 18 year-old she could not legally get past the diligent doorman, so she used to camp outside the club on weekends instead, even during the long brutal Indiana winters, just so she could listen and learn her trade.

The Chatterbox is not a large venue, and the stage is situated just inside the club’s front door, and so the young reed player had no trouble hearing the stray notes that seeped from the ancient stage. Watching the seasoned musicians work their magic through the etched glass, for the price of enduring the elements she was able to learn the classic songbook, and master the art of passing the tip bucket from barfly to barfly to booth.

Five years later, and she had arrived on stage: one of the anointed few. Her dream had come true, and she was now a Chatterbox troubadour, helping to make my sisters and I feel good about staying out late. We had a blast. It had turned out to be quite an IndySocial kind of Saturday night after all.



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Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Bill Withers BioPic This Thursday Night

ALERT: STILL BILL CANCELLED DUE TO INCLEMENT WEATHER.

Got Soul?

This Thursday Earth House will have soul in suplus as the venue presents the Indianapolis premiere of the Bill Withers documentary Still Bill as part of its ongoing Thursday Night Film Series.

Filmmakers Damani Baker and Alex Vlackhis have created a compelling biographical documentary, knitting together seldom-seen concert footage, tv appearances, and intimate interviews with friends, family and the super smooth man himself to present a stirring portrait of the 70s and 80s R&B legend known for such classic hits as “Ain’t No Sunshine,” “Lean On Me,” “Lovely Day,” “Grandma’s Hands,” and “Just the Two of Us.”

The soulful result is STILL BILL, and it is highly-recommended. This week's one-night-only showing is presented by the Indianapolis Black Professionals and NCNW Millennium Section. A $5 suggested donation is required.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Hoosier Tribute to Bob Dylan@ the Athenaeum


Calling all Hoosier Dylan Fans. This Saturday promises to be an amazing evening of all things Bob, as some of Indiana's finest homegrown musicians, along with the Indiana Poet Laureate, gather together at the Athenaeum to pay homage to rock's reigning poet king.

The fun begins at 7:30 (doors 6:30) in the Athenaeum Theatre this Saturday, Jan. 9, 2010.

Jennie DeVoe, Gordon Bonham, Jason Wilber, Tim Grimm, Bobbie Jane Lancaster, The White Lightning Boys, and Joyous Garde will perform, while Norbert Krapf, Indiana Poet Laureate, will recite Dylan-related poems with backing by Bonham and Grimm. Producer Grimm observes: "Dylan has served as the model for all singer-songwriters to follow. He was the first folk musician to go electric and the first successful writer of political and social commentary on a mass scale." Krapf says this show is his best vehicle for accomplishing his IPL mission of "reuniting those kissing kin, poetry and music."

Advance tickets for Hoosier Dylan are now available for $15 at Luna Music, both the Mass Ave. and College & 52nd St. locations, and Indy CD & Vinyl, Broad Ripple Ave. Door price: $18.

More info: http://krapfpoetry.com/hoosier_dylan_comes_to_indy.htm
Queries: (812) 603-3503; nkrapf@indy.rr.com