A Not-So-Final-Word About Neil Innes, August, 2008

Neil Innes is the brilliant talent behind the great ’60s surrealist vaudeville act, the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, the songs for Monty Python, and The Rutles. There’s a new documentary film about Innes, The Seventh Python. The Bonzos are on a 40th reunion tour that sadly does not include the elegant wildman, Vivian Stanshall, who died in 1995. His good friend was The Who’s Keith Moon, and you know that can’t be good for your health. “If I had all the money I spent on drink,” Viv observed, “then I’d spend it on drink.”
Neil Innes talks to my friend, Sharon Anderson, who writes for this paper. Sharon is also a very talented painter. She’s one of the few artists I know who actually sells her work.
Neil once recalled a time in 1966 when the Bonzos were recording their album, Gorilla, at Abbey Road Studios.

“We learned the Beatles were in the next studio, making Revolver,” Neil told Sharon. “And here we were, playing old ragtime numbers whose copyrights had expired because that saved us money.”

The moral of the story is no matter how good you think you are, there’s always going to be someone next door recording Revolver.

That notion can keep us humble – or it can render us demoralized.
Sharon says no matter how well she paints, Ed Ruscha is in the next studio painting gas stations on canvas. All we can do is to keep lumbering on, one foot in front of the other. Innes kept going and has now seen the enormous success, including his tunes in the Broadway smash hit, Spamalot.

He was zany enough to tempt fate with his first big song with the Bonzos: “I’m the Urban Spaceman.” He called up Paul McCartney and asked him to produce it. Paul said sure. Neil called Liberty Records and told them that McCartney would produce the single. The execs were ecstatic. Then Neil thought, as only an artist would think, “Why should I use McCartney’s name?” So he called McCartney back and said that his real name would not be used. The producer credit would go to “Apollo C. Vermouth.” McCartney chuckled and agreed. Liberty sputtered and choked at the news, but the song became a hit anyway.
Most of us would not have taken that risk. Neil had to go his own way, even when he was a kid.

Someone might be recording Revolver next door but we have to plunge ahead the best we can with all the foolish moxie we can muster. If we don’t, what’s to become of us?
As Vivian Stanshall said, “If you are normal, I intend to be a freak for the rest of my life.”

Bruce Bellingham writes pieces for the Marina Times and Northside San Francisco. He saw the original Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band perform live in 1968. Nothing was the same for Bruce or for anyone else after that.

Bellingham by the Bay, August 2008

Bellingham by the Bay, August 2008
by Bruce Bellingham

When I heard that San Francisco artist Bruce Conner died the other day, I was reminded of my childhood in New Jersey. I saw a film documentary back then. I have no idea how old I was. The film was about underground filmmakers, and was broadcast on a New York TV station. This is what struck me: On a panel where Bruce Conner had to field questions from a hostile press about the meaning of his movie work, he responded, “Now, I am going to play the harmonica.”

And he did – until the members of the press drifted away.

He shrugged it all off. I knew then that I wanted to be some sort of artist – I already had made 8-mm films – and I knew then that it was right to proceed with a passel of harmonicas (we called them “harps” in those days) at all times.  

Bruce Conner was 74 when he died. He was the sort of artist who could make things ordinary not look so ordinary. All good artists have a sense of humor. For example, Bruce had a skillful tendency to report his obituary on several occasions over the years – and get people to believe it.

That’s only more evidence of a true artist: to manipulate what an obit is all about. Obits are extraordinary pieces of literary limestone, cut from quarries that no one will visit for real.
Now I’m going to play the harmonica. …

You might think this spooky. The mostly Latino kitchen staff at the Balboa Cafe is preoccupied with the end of the world – no, not the end of the shift. It’s seems that the notion of the Mayan Calendar that dictates worldwide calamity in the year 2012 has taken hold of the lads in Cow Hollow. I was told from one of them that a super-sized tsunami will engulf all of California and Nevada. One thing for sure: this will be very bad for people who market 2013 calendars. Apocalypse Pretty Soon.…

Speaking of Francis Ford Coppola, he’s down Argentina way making a new film. His good friend, North Beach poet Tony Dingman was at LaRocca’s Corner reminiscing a bit about the movies he’s worked on with Francis, particularly the 1992 production of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, where Gary Oldman was a nonstop, intemperate funnyman on the set. Let’s not forget Tom Waits’s off-the-wall portrayal of the demented, spider-gobbling Renfield. …

Photographer Dominique Tarlé was the guest of honor at a reception at the Clift Hotel last month to preview his show of Rolling Stones pics from 1971 when the band was in the south of France and recording Exile on Main Street. The show is running at the S.F. Art Exchange on Geary Street through Aug. 30. In attendance was Jake Weber, who stars in NBC’s Medium with former San Francisco resident Patricia Arquette. Jake, a very amiable fellow, was there because he appears in several of the Stones photos from 37 years ago. One poignant shot is of a woebegone 7-year-old Jake with Mick Jagger, separated by four guitars. I mentioned to Jake how lost he looked in the picture, and he explained that it was about the time his mother had committed suicide. Famed rock photog Michael Cooper, who shot the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band, made some of the images. Cooper died of a heroin overdose in 1973. There’s a lot of wreckage left over from that exiled world. Meanwhile, the Brit tabs are reporting that Stones’ guitarist Ronnie Wood, 61, has left his wife of 23 years to traipse off to Ireland with an 18-year-old Russian cocktail waitress. Keith and Mick have reportedly implored Ronnie to come to his senses. Imagine that. A Rolling Stones intervention. Now I’m going to play the harmonica. …

Local solo guitarist-singer Brian Keeney has been wowing them at Tiernan’s Pub in Fisherman’s Wharf on Wednesday and Friday nights. Liam Tiernan, who owns the place along with wife Susan, takes the stage occasionally, too. But they’re both rather busy getting the Washington Square Bar & Grill reopened by September. … Local literary legend Herb Gold had a reading from his new book, Still Alive: A Temporary Condition, on July 17 at City Lights, demonstrating that the unstoppable Mr. Gold is more than alive. … Firefighters managed to save Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s cabin at Big Sur, as they also bravely preserved the Henry Miller Library there. That’s not the sort of book burning that Miller would have anticipated. …

The Horseshoe Tavern on Chestnut Street in the Marina is looking forward to its 75th anniversary next year, and saloonkeeper Stefan Wever notes that it’s been 17 years since he bought the place from the late, storied Vic Ramos, a real tough, lovely Marina character. Vic was a gent, as is Stefan, who occasionally lets me play the harmonica in the pub. …

Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the Marina Times, and the author of Bellingham by the Bay. Tell Bruce what he needs to know at bruce@northsidesf.com

Bellingham by the Bay, Spetember 2008

from the SF Northside

Jazz at Peal's in North Beach appears to be closed for good. Singer Kim Nalley, who owned the club with her husband, Steve Sheraton, before they were embroiled in a divorce, was hoping she could carry on alone. It was not to be. San Francisco now loses another great jazz night club -- for now. ... One closes, one opens. The inexhaustible Lou Gillespie (she's the former owner of Lou's Pier 47) has a new place at the site of the former La Felce in North Beach, across the street from Washington Square, on Stockton at Union. It's called Lou's at the Square. It's a full restaurant, featuring tapas and live rhythm and blues. She's very proud of an ancient upright piano on the premises. It once resided in a San Francisco brothel. The familiar, friendly face of Danny Leone can be found behind Lou's bar. ...

A lot of people expressed surprise to learn that Julia Child was a spy for the U.S. during World War II but it was already widely-known that she worked for the OSS in Paris during the war. That's where she met her husband, Paul. And that's where she learned French cuisine. Julia loved San Francisco. One of her favorite restaurants was Tu-Lan, the Vietnamese hole-in-the-wall on 6th at Market. Only Julia Child could discover a gem on Skid Row. Espionage and bravery side, she was always a heroine simply for saving America from meat and potatoes. ... The venerable Redwood Room in the Clift Hotel, a symbol of old San Francisco, is celebrating its 75th anniversary. ... It was a jarring sight: a large sting ray mysteriously appearing on the sidewalk at Market & 4th during a busy afternoon. No word on how it got there. Was it a sting ray or a manta ray? Or Man Ray. Yes, the surrealists would have appreciated this bizarre scene, cops hovering over a sea creature on the concrete. ...

San Francisco has avoided the cascade of foreclosures that we're seeing in surrounding counties. Housing prices here have plunged by 29 per cent, and that keeps the real estate biz buzzing. "We've never been busier," says Maya Brouwer, office manager of Hill & Co. on Union St. "Most of us were hoping for a day off this summer, but not a chance." ... The Jewish Community Center is growing so fast that staffers are opening an annex, and a new restaurant on the second floor. The site on the corner of Calf. & Masonic that once housed a restaurant, will soon become a Pilates studio. Is that named for Pontius Pilates? Come inside and wash your hands of the whole thing. ... Kimberly Guilfoyle Newsom Villency has become many things to many people since she moved to New York. Kimberly's a mother, a Fox broadcaster, the host of "Animal Witness" on the Animal Planet network, and a frequent patron at various film festivals. One society blog describes her as "a well-heeled cinephile." Some heels, too. ... Cosmo Sostenuto says he's disappointed that Winona Ryder's wedding has been called off: "I was all set to shoplift a gift at Saks for the happy couple." ...

Phil Ryan, the famed attorney, read from his new novel, All Sins Remembered, at Book Passage at the Ferry Building last month. It's an exciting story that revolves around the murder of an S.F. socialite (Phil's dad was a court reporter). The book includes all sorts of bits of local history, such as, the 1906 quake, the beginnings of the Bank of America, the early days of the S.F. Opera. This is the first novel in a trilogy. Phil's next book is called Bella Cora, and we all remember who she was, right? Right! She was a notorious madam from the Barbary Cast days. Cora kept a bagnio on what is now Waverly Place in Chinatown. ... Tom Orr's show, I Feel A Thong Coming On," at the New Conservatory Theatre, got lots of laughs and plenty of kudos. Orr's talent was not lost on cabaret star Andrea Marcovicci who called Orr " a scene-stealing whore." Some might be insulted by Orr used the line is all of his press releases. Andrea was sheepish about it: "I just blurted it out in the dressing room, I meant no harm." No harm done. ...

Lucy Lawless aka Xena: Warrior Princess, will sing at the Herbst Theatre on Sept. 27. It's a benefit for the Richmond Ermet AIDS Foundation. She's performed in S.F. for the cause before, and stole the star-studded show. Yes, she's a scene-stealer. She's hotter than a two-dollar pistol. Though Lucy's late in coming to a music career, she's made up for lost time. ... Juanita Arsten, longtime Marina resident -- and I mean a long time -- turned 102 last month. That almost certainly makes her the oldest person in the neighborhood, but you wouldn't know it by her sharp mind and quick wit. ... "Where's three-dot yellow journalism when we truly need it?" asks Niel Mortensen. Don' t look at me, Niel."Thank God we were never forced to read Herb Caen online. Online is where you stand when you're in New York." Yes, purists still traverse the streets of San Francisco, heaven help them. ...

"Every man needs a woman to badger him into doing the right thing," observes Norm Goldblatt. "Never take her for granted. Keep the communications line open. We're communicating so much better now that we BOTH have e-mail." And we'll leave it at that.

Bruce Bellingham is an author and a columnist for the Marina Times. "Tell me what I should know," he says with great apprehension. His e-mail is bruce@nprthsidesf.com


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The Loony Legacy of Neil Innes and the Gonzo Bonzo Dog Band

The Final Word, SF Northside, August 2008

Neil Innes in the brilliant talent behind the great 60s surrealist vaudeville act, the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band … the songs for Monty Python and The Rutles. There’s a new documentary film about Innes, The Seventh Python. The Bonzos are on a 40th reunion tour that sadly does not include the elegant wildman, Vivian Stanshall, who died in 1995. His good friend was the Who’s Keith Moon, and you know that can’t be good for your health. “If I had all the money I spent on drink,” Viv observed, “then I’d spend it on drink.”
Neil Innes talks to my friend, Sharon Anderson, who writes for this paper. Sharon is also a very talented painter. She’s one of the few artists I know who actually sells her work.
Neil once recalled a time in 1966 when the Bonzos were recording their album, Gorilla, at Abbey Road Studios.
“We learned the Beatles were in the next studio, making Revolver,” Neil told Sharon. “And here we were, playing old ragtime numbers whose copyrights had expired because that saved us money.”
The moral of the story is no matter how good you think you are, there’s always going to be someone next door recording Revolver.
That notion can keep us humble – or it can render us demoralized.
Sharon says no matter how well she paints, Ed Ruscha is in the next studio painting gas stations on canvas. All we can do is to keep lumbering on, one foot in front of the other. Innes kept going and has now seen the enormous success, including his tunes in the Broadway smash hit, Spamalot.
He was zany enough to tempt fate with his first big song with the Bonzos: I’m the Urban Spaceman. He called up Paul McCartney and asked him to produce it. Paul said sure. Neil called United Artists and told them that McCartney would produce the single. The execs were ecstatic. Then Neil thought, as only an artist would think, “Why should I use McCartney’s name?” So he called McCartney back and said that his real name would not used. The producer credit would go to “Apollo C. Vermouth.” McCartney chuckled and agreed. United Artists sputtered and choked at the news but the song became a hit anyway.
Most of us would not have taken that risk. Neil had to go his own way, even when he was a kid.
Someone might be recording Revolver next door but we have to plunge ahead the best we can with all the foolish moxie we can muster. If we don’t, what’s to become of us?
As Vivian Stanshall said, “If you are normal, I intend to be a freak for the rest of my life.”


Bruce Bellingham writes pieces for the Marina Times and the Northside. He saw the original Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band perform live in 1968. Nothing was the same for Bruce or for anyone else after that.


######

The Final Word ... July 2008

from the S.F. Northside ... northsidesf.com

Here it is July already, and my chances of making some big money by the end of the year are growing slimmer with each passing day.
I'm not the only one in trouble, of course. Who would have imagined that the bank would foreclose on Ed McMahon's house? Aside from being Johnny Carson's sidekick for all those years, he was the face on TV of the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes, personally ringing peoples' doorbells and turning them into instant millionaires. Ed was the personification of good fortune, high hopes, the yearning for a life without money troubles. Now Ed's story is like millions of other stories in the cold light of day and destitution: a house depreciating by the minute, behind on the mortgage, a few divorces, health problems, unemployment. If Ed McMahon can fall trough the cracks, what does that say about the country as a whole? As a whole, it's in a hole.
But I'm not about to give up hope.
I was inspired by a recent incident in Florida where a couple of teenagers thought it would be fun to through a drink into the face of a young lady working at the window of a drive-thru fast food franchise. The is apparently a game called "Fire In the Hole." The kids throw a drink back at the hapless employee, videotape the malicious act and them uplink it on YouTube. The young victim did some pretty good police work. She tracked the perps by their faces on YouTube to their MySpace accounts, "made friends" with them and then got ahold of one of the parents, and spilling the beans. The police got into it. The teens were charged with assault. It's an old crime with a modern twist, using the trappings, if you will, of the watershed implements of our time, YouTube and MySpace.
The judge caught on. He sentenced the kids to 100 hours of community service. In addition, he ordered them to record and uplink an obsequious apology on YouTube. It made national news. This puts the stocks and pillory to shame.
It also gives me an idea for a get-rich-quick scheme in an era of get-poor-much-too-fast schemes. Of course, you don't need a scheme to go broke anymore. All you've got to do is stand still and breathe. You'll be out of money in a matter of minutes.
My idea? Greeting cards. Apologies-in-advance greeting cards. For example: "I am sorry for what I will likely do to you one day. It's not that I dislike you, I'm simply clumsy and I'm bound to hurt your feelings. Forgive me." Or perhaps: "You are the best thing that ever happened to me but since you let me use your credit card, I'm a changed person. Sorry about that." The categories are numerous. There could be apologies in advance for cheating, lying, plagiarism, indecent exposure, embezzlement, blasphemy, necrophilia, even secretly pouring Ouzo over your cornflakes in the morning. Perhaps there might be apologies in order for agreeing with the lunatic who'd like to keep our troops in Iraq for the next 100 years. There might even be apologies in advance for trying to nick my idea for greeting cards for apologies-in-advance -- but forget it. I already got a copyright.
I have no doubt this will be a sure-fire hit. I might even make enough dough to help Ed McMahon out.
When George Bush allegedly went to Europe last month, do you know what he was really doing? That's right. He was signing piles and piles of the new apology cards.
He has a whole lot of rueful writing to do before his term is up next January.


####

Tim Russert in the Marina ... July 2008

SF Marina Times

One early Sunday evening, many years ago, I dropped into the now-vanished Triangle Lounge on Fillmore and Moulton Alley for a quick beer and a visit with the barman, Marty Lindstrom.
We chatted for a few minutes – just the two of us in the bar – when Tim Russert appeared at the front door, and greeted Marty with, “How ya doin’, buddy?”
Russert noticed me standing there, and said, “And here’s the next Herb Caen.”
After I recovered from my astonishment, I asked, “Why on earth would you say that?”
Russert replied, “My mother-in-law lives up in Cow Hollow and she sends me your column every month from the Marina Times.”
It has been said that Tim Russert was known for observing just about everything. It’s apparently true.
It has also been noted that Russert was loyal to all of his friends. He and Marty were pals when they were at Notre Dame.
“I went to Mass and then I thought I’d come over here for a beer with Marty.” Russert had just done his Meet the Press program from the road.
“I’m glad you dropped in, Tim,” I said garrulously. “I’ve been waiting for someone with whom I could I make up Lawrence Spivak jokes.”
Russert chuckled.
Years later, at Christmastime, I encountered Russert having dinner at Capp’s Corner in North Beach. True to form, he remembered me and took the trouble to introduce me to his talented wife, the author and Vanity Fair correspondent, Maureen Orth, and his son, Luke, who just graduated from Boston College.
I was raised on Meet the Press, and the longtime moderator, the assiduous, bespecled (sp?) Spivak, was a major presence in my young life.
Now, it was 1991, and Russert had taken over the program.
“You know, Mr Spivak was so kind to me, and gave me all sorts of advice and encouragement,” Russert recalled.
That sounds like the sort of mentoring for which Russert was famous.
Permit me a digression here about the history of Meet the Press, the longest-running television program in history. It started as a radio show on Mutual in 1945. It was called The American Mercury, after the magazine founded by H.L. Mencken and later owned by Lawrence Spivak. The show was created, and first hosted by a woman, Martha Rountree. That’s a rarity. It moved to NBC TV with a new name, Meet the Press. Ned Brooks was the moderator before Spivak moved from panelist to host.
Tim’s mention of Mass was not lost on me. He was a fiercely devoted Roman Catholic, and he endured (or enjoyed) a Jesuit education that was guided mostly by nuns. Nuns often get a bad rap but Russert always gave them credit for his discipline as a journalist and an insatiable curiosity about things.
He maintained the highest credentials in the most important things: a loving husband, a good dad, a world-class journalist, a fine fellow, a loyal friend.
Someone once asked Harry Reasoner if he envied anybody. Reasoner, the hard-drinking curmudgeonly journo like the William Holden and Pete Finch characters in the movie, Network, said, “I wish I could be the flat-stomached chap who can climb mountains and things like that.”
I envy the qualities that Tim Russert had, just a few of those tendencies, such as reliability and a diligence about doing homework.
He could also get people excited about his passion, politics (and sports). The cynics, the Nixonians, the right-wingers would have us give up on politics in disgust, and leave the villains at the controls – which is exactly what has happened in recent years. But Russert cheered us on when the game was going badly. He was thrilled by the upcoming election and how Obama is reigniting interest in the American political system. It’s heartbreaking to think how Russert will not be here to see how this contest turns out. This is like losing the coach in the fourth quarter of the game.
Above all, Tim Russert had a generosity of spirit. His optimism, his enthusiasm, his acuity of mind touched countless people. Someone told me last month that the mood in Washington following Russert’s death was as if a popular head of state had died – if there are any popular heads of states these days.
His friend, Mike Barnicle observed sadly, “Tim Russert was a prosecutor for the public good.”

Bruce Bellingham is a columnist and the Arts & Entertainment Editor for the SF Northside.

Bellingham by the Bay, July 2008

from the SF Northside ... northsidesf.com

Tim Russert was one of the few good guys in the reporting business. I ran into him in a Marina District saloon in San Francisco years ago -- when he'd just taken over Meet the Press. That must have been 1991. Aside from the bartender, Marty Lindstrom, a pal of Tim from Notre Dame, I was the only one in the pub, the now-vanished Triangle Lounge. Russert walked in, looked at me, and said, "Say, it's the next Herb Caen."
I was gobsmacked.
"Why do you say that?" I asked incredulously.
"My mother-in-law lives in this neighborhood, in Cow Hollow” explained Russert. She sends me your column from the Marina Times."
Imagine that.
I told him I was grateful he was there because I'd been waiting in the bar for someone with whom I could make Lawrence Spivak jokes. Russert guffawed. Spivak, the first host of Meet the Press, was apparently generous with his encouragement to Tim when he took over as host of the venerable NBC Sunday morning show.
It's true that Tim Russert was also generous and encouraging to so many in so many ways. …

Word comes that Gretchen Belli, the former daughter-in-law of the late Melvin Belli, the King of Torts, and ex-wife of Caesar Belli, who still practices law in S.F., died in Palm Springs on April 7 of cancer. She was only 54 years old. Gretchen was a fiery red-haired Mississippi belle with southern charm who could mix a wicked stinger and sting you wickedly if so inclined. Gretchen was a bundle of energy, holding positions with the Joffrey Ballet, the S.F. Opera Guild, the American Trial Lawyers Association, and the City’s Film Commission. She was a consultant to the intriguingly murky movie Zodiac. Gretchen got into some legal hassle with the Kern County city of Taft. I hear that at the time of her death she was working on a deal with an Indian casino near Barstow. Resourceful she was. I like to remember the three Thanksgivings I spent with her and her family during those famous trips to Mel’s hometown of Sonora in the Gold Country. Gretchen had the spirit and determination of a 49er, tough, tenacious, always in pursuit of some sort of elusive treasure. …

Sex and the City: Gary Meyer, the owner of the great repertory house, the Balboa Theatre, had an inspired idea last month. Before the screening of the instantly-iconic Sex and the City, he brought the lovely chanteuse Sony Holland on stage to sing a few songs first. She can kick it. And, yes, she had great shoes … As thousands of people pour into San Francisco from all over the country to take advantage of the same-sex marriage phenomenon, Mayor Gavin Newsom slips out of state to marry his charming galfriend Jennifer Siebel at her family’s ranch in the Bitteroot River Valley of Montana, July 26. … The organizers of Perry Mann’s Exotic Erotic Ball & Expo say they will move out of the Cow Palace after seven years and have the party on Treasure Island in October. Sally Rand’s Nude Ranch was part of the 1939 World’s Fair on T.I. and that seems to be some sort of precedent, stripped of pretense, I’m sure. …

The Caffeinated Cabaret is the latest thing to hit Polk Street. It’s at It’s A Grind coffeehouse, 1800 Polk @ Washington. On the first & third Tuesdays of the month, the magician Ash K. the Pretty Good will host an array of singers, jugglers, comics, necromancers, newspaperpeople, strippers, hustlers, roadies, shock jocks, forgotten rockers, fashionistas, mendicants, low-level gangsters, ragtag street urchins, residents of fixed incomes, residents who need fixes, merchant marines, undercover cops, sidewalk poets proffering verses, disaffected office workers, smarmy socialites, secretive Rosicrucians, taciturn Russians, hunchbacks, bohunks and hod carriers. Yeah, I’m just having my fun. Ash K. says performers simply have to be “charming, amusing and compelling.” There are auditions. Send your name, phone number and link to your website (your site, MySpace, YouTube) so the judges can assess your schtick. Send to: iagsfyahoo.com …

Down Memory Lane, if we remember: Boy George and His Band at the Grand Ballroom at The Regency Center, Van Ness & Sutter, July 19, 9 p.m. $45. … Get this: The Jefferson Starship & The Zombies!, at the same venue, July 20 at 7 p.m. $39. … I was thrilled to see the Delta Wires perform at the North Beach Fair. That takes me back a few decades. Cathy Richardson, who plays Janis Joplin in the hit show Love, Janis, belted out some splendid tunes. Of course there was the inimitable Lavy Smith and the Red-Hot Skillet Lickers – and they tore it up. …

The Mid-Polk Merchants Association is doing its level best to keep the neighborhood tidy, even ambitiously & relentlessly removing graffiti. Sascha Stolz is one of the locals who is tending a little garden at the foot of a sycamore on Hyde near Calif., an area which is often cluttered with rubbish. We must cultivate our own garden. …

Speaking of cultivated, artist Sharon Anderson was meandering through The Bargain Bank on Polk and came across some cheap vodka called Absolut Squalor. So she claims. Ever notice that squalor is always “absolute” and poverty is invariably “abject”? As if squalor and poverty aren’t bad enough all by themselves, without the adjectives. Most of us can’t even afford the adjectives anymore. … I see bank robberies in the Bay Area are up nearly 60 per cent. How else can you pay for the gas for the getaway car? That reminds me of the time when convicted bank robber Patty Hearst was in federal prison & kept getting applications from credit card companies in the mail. She was good for it. Say what you will about Patty, she has an amusing moxie and can sure stick to her guns.


Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the Marina Times & is the author of a book, Bellingham by the Bay, which is now available for early shoplifting for Christmas.


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I'm Trying to Get Off Futility Drugs ... June 2008

from the S.F. Marina Times

I've written that if you stick around long enough, you'll disappoint everybody. Perhaps I was kidding, perhaps I still believe it. When I saw the news coverage of Senator Ted Kennedy in the days following the disclosure of his illness, a brain tumor that the media insist is fatal and has a hopeless chance of recovery, I began to think that if you stick around long enough, perhaps one will also accrue a remarkable measure of respect.
Ted Kennedy was suddenly deified. It was startling to see the old cats of the United States Senate on C-SPAN actually weeping on the air. They usually make us cry.
It was also touching. There was almost unanimous praise from bipartisan quarters for Kennedy. And why not? The stories began to emerge that Kennedy has done a lot of good things during his 46 years in the Senate. (Where did those 46 years go?) Gavin Newsom says Kennedy has helped San Francisco directly on many occasions, specifically by directing money to social programs here.
Ted Kennedy did not have to stay in public service after Chappaquidick, one of the most famous spots in American history. After he let a girl drown in a car and then walked home all those years ago seemed to have ended the era of the Kennedys.
But it didn't. The myth of Camelot had already been abrogated by the assassination of Ted's two older brothers. But Ted went back to politics, sometimes described as public service. The rest continued to be history, though Ted's history turned out, I'm sure, a disappointment to him. He wanted to be president anyway.
It was not to be.
Ted continued to work what used to be described as the most respected body of government in the world. He used the juice of the Kennedy name to be truly effective. That name of the Kennedys still resonates to people my age. It represented hope when I was kid. If Jack was dead, we thought, then Bobby will get the country jump-started in another direction, specifically to end the Viet Nam War.
It was not to be.
Teddy may have been a disappointment, but he did not stay at home all the time with a constant supply of Scotch. After all these years, this good Catholic boy has done penance in ways, ways that many of us had never really heard about. He's helped poor people, single moms, children, unions, minorities, and people who deserve help from the government. He reminds us that the government is supposed to work for us.
If you are going to pick on a 76-year-old man who is sick, as some right-wing radio creatures have, then you're a damned fool. After Herb Caen announced he has cancer 12 years ago, a TV reporter put a microphone in front of my face and asked me what I thought about Caen's "certain death because he had inoperable cancer."
"Inoperable does not mean hopeless," I said in my deepest and most unqualified conviction.
I'm still trying to stay off the drugs that induce futility. If there was a time to be hopeful, maybe this is it. Ted Kennedy's illness reminds some of us of the days when his brothers inspired hope in lots of hearts. Perhaps it's time that we send a little bit of hope back to him. Even if you think he was a disappointment, I'm sure it would not cost us a thing to forgive.

Bruce Bellingham also writes for the SF Northside. He may or not be a disappointment on occasion, but he still seems to pester us with his commentary anyway.

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Bellingham by the Bay, June 2008

from the San Francisco Northside

Bellingham by the Bay, SF Northside, June 2008

The State Supreme Court's decision to reinstate same-sex marriages seems to have riveted more people who are out-of-state than here in San Francisco. So, what else is new? Of all that things that might concern us, I don't see gay marriage being a problem. Gavin Newsom was prescient when he recommended the legislation four years ago. I don't think being a bigot, such as the famous segregationists like Jesse Helms, pays off in the long run. They have to apologize eventually. Besides, if S.F. is irritating everyone else, we're doing the right thing. Mark Leno was at City Hall that day four years ago, and was one of the many local officials who were performing these notorious same-sex marriage ceremonies. "Hey, Bruce," Leno said to me with a smile, "why don't you do a few of these ceremonies, too? I'll let you." I declined. I just don't perform well under pressure, I guess. But it was nice to be around some happy people for a change. ...

The irrepressible author Herb Gold was in The Crepe House on Polk Street the other day, and reports that he was off late last month to speak in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. He wanted to invite me along but it seems he didn't need anyone to hold his jacket for him. Herb's an expert on Haiti, and has written a few books and New York Times pieces about the place. "It's gotten a little dangerous lately," Herb concedes with his understated wit. Herb Gold's new book, Still Alive, comes out in July, and he's being honored at a dinner in New York, sponsored by his publisher. "I suppose you heard that Oakley Hall died in May," Herb said. "All of my old friends are disappearing, so I'd better keep an eye on you, Bruce." ...

Chasing our tales: Former Nob Hill resident Dorothy Hearst's first novel is about to be published. It's called Promise of the Wolves. She just loves those wild beasts. Speaking of wildlife, Dorothy has moved to Berkeley, where it's likely that you'll find an apartment that accepts pets. ... More literary news: Dame Edna Everage returns to S.F. for a run at the Post Street Theatre from Nov. 20 to Jan. 4. La Dame is still outrageous, and promises "a spookily intimate show." She's also announces that "Amy Tan wants to write a book about me, and Armistead Maupin is weaving me into a new Tale of the City." ...

A few people got together at Garry Graham's night club in Fairfax, the 19 Broadway, to remember Chuck Day, who was a regular customer and a regular fellow with not-such-a-regular talent as a guitar player. Chuck would occasionally play his Fender Stratocaster in the club's bar. In the 60's, he was a first-rate session player in L.A. and had a long romance with Mama Cass Elliot. Chuck was a burly, bearded chap & a really sweet man. ... One of the best & sweetest S.F. chantootsies is long, tall & lithe Lorna K., who just landed a regular gig at the Hotel Rex on Sutter at Mason. Lorna sings there on June 6 & June 27. ... Tim Hockenberry has become a regular at the Rrazz Room in the Hotel Nikko. ...

Jazz singer Kim Nalley was having her nails done & all that girl stuff on Nob Hill the other day. She's happy to say that she'll continue to run her club, Jazz at Pearls, for as long as she can. Kim had announced the club's closing, then had a change of heart. "The only problem is that I have to get the musicians who thought I was closing booked all over again," she confesses. "Oy." ... Maurice Kanbar, the peripatetic philanthropist of Pacific Heights, was hanging out at the Cannes Film Festival again this year (he's gone to Cannes every year since 1968). Then Maurice pressed on to Israel, where he received an honorary degree. ... Maurice is still a huge supporter if the S.F. Film Festival, which reports a very successful year. At a gala to honor the legendary screenwriter Robert Towne at the St. Francis last month, Warren Beatty mingled with a few of us mortals. "I have to tell you that I pestered you for an interview at the Democratic National Convention in 1984," I told Beatty. "You refused because you'd have to give an interview to everyone, if you acceded to my request." Beatty replied, "You know what? The answer is still no." I'm sure Warren said that just for old time's sake. ...


Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay. He continues to pester all sorts of people because Bellingham has no sense of shame. He basks in the luminescence of prominent personalities, seeking a vague form of validation. It's sort of sad, isn't it? ...

The Final Word, June 2008

from the SF Northside, 2008

To my surprise, André Breton, often called "the father of surrealism," was in the news last month. In London, Sotheby's auctioned the only existing copy of Breton's The Surrealist Manifesto, which he wrote in 1924. He died at age 70 in 1966. The document was Breton's argument for "uncontrolled art." At auction, it was expected to fetch at least a half-million dollars. I did not catch all the details of the story as I listened to NPR at 5 a.m. because the garbage men arrived at that moment just outside my window and made too much noise for me to hear very well. Perhaps Breton might have called this a "Dadaist accident." I have to give Sharon Anderson credit for that expression. At any rate, it was an uncontrolled moment.
The manifesto gave rise to the notion of "automatic writing," and I envy anyone who can do it. I never found anything automatic about writing. Breton explained it this way: "psychic automatism in its pure state."
He and the other surrealists had a great sense of humor, that's what's charming about them. Breton might have been amused by the garbage men making a racket because so many people characterized the work of the surrealists as rubbish. Odd that, even if Breton's pal, Marcel Duchamp, displayed an ordinary urinal, and titled it Fountain. I saw it the other day in the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Then again, I might have just been in the men's room. It's wonderful to think of the outrage this stuff caused. They literally incited riots back in those halcyon days of tender sensibilities.
Certainly Breton, who came from a poor family, would also be amused by the staggering amount of money that his work garners today. Surrealism was a result of the horrors of the First World War. These artists figured that nothing could be more absurd than that inexplicable piece of terror that the military and the government cooked up. So the Dadists and the Surrealists responded with a brutal brand of satire. Why bother explaining this sort of art when everything else is beyond explanation? But Breton does explain it, well kind of, in this 21-page document called The Surrealist Manifesto. The details of his his writing, his definition of "psychic automatism," is wondrous. Breton was a great poet. He provided a hotline to the irreal, a direct connection to the subconscious. The notion of an auction carried out by the art establishment would have made him laugh. I hope it would. He would not laugh, though, at the continuing madness of wars around the world. Artists cannot stop war, it seems. But maybe they can get people to start talking about war. I wish we would talk about Iraq more often, it appears that it fell off the media radar. It's a pretty good example of madness and inexplicable horror.
I hope someone savvy and with a good trouble-making spirit buys The Surrealist Manifesto. Perhaps an American, who might take it to Washington D.C. and reads the whole thing into the Congressional Record.
I wonder if anyone would notice.

Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the Marina Times and writes Bellingham by the Bay for this newspaper. He agrees with the late poet Allen Ginsberg, who suggested that someone should throw potato salad at professors who lecture us about Dadaism.

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The Final Word, May 2008

from the San Francisco Northside

Writing this piece called The Final Word always gives me pause, and leads me to contemplate might this really be a final word from me. A final word? Really. I never thought I'd stop talking. That's why I like to use the space to describe another's story, another's far more eloquent Te Deum and all the sort of thing. I'm sure that even my Last Rites would be construed as Last Wrongs. So I drift from the ecclesiastical to the mere extraterrestrial, if not the downright extemporaneous.
Lots of final words get misconstrued. Now we talk about President Eisenhower's Final Address when he warned America of the threat of the "military-industrial complex." How many though that was some sort of mental problem of his that he'd taken up with his psychiatrist? Of course, now we know, and boy, are we sorry. The great German poet Goethe apparently said on his deathbed, "More light!" But that was in German. He could have actually said, "Is there anymore beer?"
There's a lot of pressure on a person to come up with something profound to say utter in the last stages of death. The first thing I'd think is "I'd better not die here without thinking of a pretty cool phrase that might make the morning papers." It's certainly a bad time for plagiarism, a popular American sport.
Now that I think about it, a "Final Word" need not be a last word at all. It might be the most memorable phrase someone has given to another in the course of their lifetimes. Something that sticks with us when the time is right to pull it up for hope, courage or even for a chuckle. Gestures of kindness go a long way and may even resonate when it seems the lights may grow dim for awhile.
So it might be best to come up with all sorts of Final Words, the ones that crackle for the moment, the occasion, the season -- but not necessarily the kinds of words that come with the dark rooms, the gloomy gazes and the medical mopers.
Let us Final Word this month be proclaimed by the living & the irrepressibly cheerful. My the words hearten those who are about to embark on big changes in their job, in their families, in their way of living, even a detachment from loved ones, embarking on a new venue, or a scary circumstance. Our Final Word as you head out to all this, "Good luck," God bless. Be reminded that plenty of us think of you." You teach us by your brave example, and we say, "Thanks much!" Know that we love you, and forgive us for being so stupid so many times, in so many ways, and reluctant to confess it. We'll remember you in May, and how you look as though your brought spring with you. Now, it goes with you. Sure, there will be troubling, sunless days in the coming months. But you have left us a legacy. It’s a rich legacy. Your Final Word is the light that you leave in our hearts.



Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, and write columns for the Marina Times and the SF Northside, bless their ink-stained, newsprinted hearts.

Bellingham by the Bay, May 2008

Who says this town isn't safe anymore? I encountered more security I ever wanted to see last month at AT&T Park for the promised run of the Olympic torch here in San Francisco, the only North American city to have that privilege. And the only American city that qualified for all the "flaming" jokes to go with it. The scene round he ball park was high-pressure chaos. A CNN reporter kindly broke through a wall of cops to fetch my credentials for me. The SFPD cops were a little annoyed by the whole thing -- but the State Dept. security detail were downright obnoxious, and one of these fellows with their grey suits and nice lapel pins, actually gave me a shove, credentials or no. Maybe that was a hug sent from Condi Rice. I wandered into the restricted area (the pier from where the torch was eventually launched secretly on a Coast Guard boat for a tour of the Bay). There were many, many disappointed people who could not get a glimpse of the storied Olympic torch. Some had traveled thousands of miles for the event. Mayor Gavin was doomed one way or the other. After the melee in Paris a week before, he opted to err on the side of caution.
San Francisco cops are usually cool under the pressure of these sorts of thing, even friendly to me. The heat from the feds got to be too much, so I repaired to Peter Osborne's cool, swell, new saloon. Pete's Tavern, across the King street from the stadium. There I could credibly watch CNN, and observe the events that were happening a few yards from me.

****************

Across King Street from the ball park and the torch Torquemadas is MoMo's, Osborne's main restaurant, and I'm glad to see that some of the friendly folk who worked at the now-closed Washington Square Bar & Grill are working there. Boom Boom ... Leslie Asche ... Fredy Lopez ... and Sarah Jane, who's been at Momo's for all of these ten years since MoMo's opened. ... By the way, it's rumored that an East Coast company may soon revitalize the WashBag, and it may soon reopen. ... Many of the fans of the Washbag's famed Barman Michael McCourt have followed him over to Amante on Green Street. Dick Underhill was in there the other day, reminiscing about the funeral of Robin Williams' brother Todd, affectionately known as"Toad," all those years ago. It's sad to note that the classy, kind Dave O'Byrne, a fixure at The Square for a long time, is now gone ...



Down Columbus Street the legendary Jazz at Pearl's was set to close at the end of April. It seems a well-known local businesswoman is about to get new ownership. ... Jazz at Pearl's co-owner Kim Nalley has been singing in New York, and still going through a divorce with former biz parter Steve Sheraton. ... The last show at Jazz at Pearls will be exquisite, Barry Lloyd, on April 27. What a way to close the show there. Barry has accompanied just about everybody on piano, and has a grand solo show based on the inimitable Bobby Short. It would be fun, lotsa fun, to see Barry play at the Hotel Carlyle, where Bobby held court for over 37 years. ...

The rumors are flying fast and furious, quiet meetings have been arranged at North Beach haunts such as Da Flora, to discuss how an attorney from the Central Valley has managed to what locals describe as extort money out of N.B. restaurants by arranging for allegedly disabled clients to challenge the restaurants' ability to accommodate the handicapped. Lots of money has exchanged hands. Now business owners are calling on Sup. Aaron Peskin who's keeping away from the fray. ....


Mark Quessey, the blustery barista at It's A Grind on Polk & Washington is relentless in his aspirations to run for mayor. He's got his pin on daily (lapel pins are all the rage, you know) and he's now consorting with political vet Jack Molinari every morning as Jack comes in for his coffee. Molinari is more likely ambushed. But Mark says he's very helpful. There's no question that Mark has a caffeine quaffing constituency. They include the spillover crowd from the Lumiere who've seen Zombie Strippers. .... The coffee shop's manager, Julie Blodgett, is becoming the face of the neighborhood. Perhaps she'll bring her bassoon to work with her one day. Why not? Hoa Ly likes to play his clarinet in his barber shop, Sharp Cuts, down on Van Ness & Lombard. ... Thousands turned out for the dedication of the memorial at Justin Herman Plaza to honor the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, the Americans who went to Spain for fight in the Spanish Civil War against Franco and the Fascists. I was surprised to see George Shultz and Charlotte along side of the mayor. The rest of the crowd were lefties of all stripes, even a few survivors of the war itself, which marked the victory of Franco. "What was so bad about Franco?" someone quietly asked. He and his thugs murdered poet Garcîa Lorca, for one. 11 of the survivors were present. Walter Hood, the monument's artist, was there. Herb Gold was there. "WE may often disagree in San Francisco," opined Gavin Newsom, "but we should ever be disagreeable." Go see the monument, it's really quite extraordinary. ...


A rare occasion at Yoshi's on Wed., May 7. Poet Michael McClure (truly one of the last of the Beats) ... Ray Manzarek (of The Doors) ... George Brooks ... Rob Wasserman ... and Jay Lane will perform two shows, 8 p.m. & 10 p.m. 415-655-5600 or visit the website: http://sf.yoshis.com/sf/jazzclub or visit Michael & Rys website: www.mcclure-manzarek.com ... Could it be time for the 9th Annual Oyster Festival at the Great Meadow in Ft. Mason again? It is. This year, on May 18 & May 18, Myles O'Reilly, who owns O'Reilly's Irish Pub & Restaurant on Green Street & the Holy Grail on Polk Street, brings. on May 17 from noon to seven, The Dropkick Murphys ... Juliette Lewis and the Licks ...Yard Dogs Rod Show ... and Eoin Harrington. On Sunday, May 8 from noon to seven, it's She and Him (Zooey Deschanel & M. Ward) ... Mother Hips ... Chuck Prophet & the Mission Express and Whispertown 2000. Last year the event drew 15,000 people so be sure to pick up your own oyster shells. Yes, we're just kidding. But you could leave a trail in order to find your way back next year. ... One Day Tickets: $20 General Admission ... $45 Special Reserve (Premium Seating Area) ... Two Day Tickets: $35 General Admission ... $80 Special Reserve (Premium Seating Area) This event is the largest Oyster festival on the West Coast. ... Thank the Goddess there at least a few oysters left for us. ...


Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, and a columnist for the Marina Times newspaper.


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Is This the City with the Hills?

from the S.F. Marina Times, May 2008

Whoever wins the American presidential election in November, it's clear what the voters in this country do not want, observed the religion reporter for Deutsche Welle television. "They don't want more downhill."
It's certainly been downhill for awhile. This fellow was talking about the "general malaise" in the United States. As the Pope's recent trip to the U.S. was greeted enthusiastically, he said, "It was touching to see Americans open their hearts, but Americans can greet celebrities better than anyone else."
Yes, sure. And no one can surpass the Catholic Church when it comes to a performance.
Amid the scornful tedium of the presidential contest, many of us looked away briefly from the downhill slide that this country faces, and found a reason to believe that springtime is here, cherry blossoms and all. Even I noticed the cherry blossoms in bloom on Union Street atop Russian Hill.
Spring is here. Why doesn't my heart go dancing?
My dear friend's mom called her from home in Michigan the other day and asked, "You live in Los Angeles, right? But you visit someone in San Francisco, right? Is San Francisco the one with the hills?"
Yes, San Francisco is the place with the high places and the high rents. You can say that I've been on a high ever since I moved here, 38 years ago. Of course, living on a hill doesn't protect us from an occasional headlong plunge into the abyss. It doesn't take us too long to decide that we don't want more downhill. But the itinerary is usually beyond out control. As we lick our wounds, we trudge back up the hill, fueled by a sense of hope or faith or something like that. I don't recommend using real fuel as a fuel these days, and I do not recommend trying to find a place to park around here. In San Francisco, you know, parking is such sweet sorrow.
I never really liked licking my wounds, anyway. It's much more fun to get someone else to do that.
But I'm off the topic.
On great hills or on flat surfaces, we really cannot tell what's on the horizon. But I'll take these great hills any day. It's a town made for walking, not for first gear. It's a city of high hills and high hopes. It's the home of the brave. Braver still, when you're kicked out of the house. It's where the wind comes sweeping down the plain and the fancy. It's where the poets and the writers knock themselves out to describe the city, and they're right and they're wrong every time. San Francisco is beguiling and alluring. And treacherous, just like the ocean currents beyond the Golden Gate. She'll swallow you up. She's faithless. She's fabulous. After 38 years of living here, you don't expect me to be objective, can you? And where do I get off calling the City a "she"? Well, Herb Caen did it, and cannot do better.
I could join the chorus of complainers, and shriek, "We don't want more downhill!"
What I want is not going to make a hang of difference. Maybe I don't want more downhill. Maybe I don't want more uphill, either. Uphill, downhill. At least San Francisco offers a choice.

Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the SF Northside, and is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, a book that's devoted to ups and downs, and a few places in between.


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Posterity's Just Around the Corner

from the SF Marina Times, April 2008

There may be more prescience than I had first thought in Governor Schwarzenegger's decision to lay off one-third of California's schoolteachers next month. There may be no jobs for these kids anyway when they get older. Posterity's just around the corner. It's really astonishing how the state's priorities are as upside-down as a mortgage. I just learned what an "upside-down mortgage" means. That's when the mortgage payments on your house exceed the value of the property. Now, that's depressing. It makes one grateful just to pay the rent. These are the joys of non-ownership.
I've always been afraid, I must tell you, to own anything. I know what it's like to have them taken all away. Don't get me wrong, I'm not as lamentable as it sounds. Someone said to me the other day that it is the American Dream to own a home. That's not the way I learned it. I thought the American Dream was to leave a world for that's better for your children. Perhaps that involves things other than property. Now, I run the risk of sounding like a pundit so I'll leave it at that, and return to my usual facile sarcasm.
"Prosperity is just around the corner," President Herbert Hoover famously said as the county careened deeper into the Great Depression. His prediction haunted him to the end of his days. President Bush evoked Hoover's impotence the other day when the Bear Stearns story broke. Speaking of upside-down, it's seems that we have to lend money to banks. Of course we do. As many called for action, Mr. Bush said he and his administration were "on top of things." So was Eliot Spitzer and looked what happened to him. The president went on to dismiss the country's flailing economy as simply "a rough patch." President Bush's deep-seated indifference to suffering is breathtaking. But he's consistent.
It was St. Patrick's Day in the Green Zone. Vice-President Cheney took his family to Baghdad. Perhaps not-so-coincidentally, Senator McCain dropped in on the Iraqi ambassador and McCain expressed his support for the war -- everyone one of them. Does anyone wonder who's going to pay for this extended war in Iraq? Of course, posterity's just around the corner. It's up to the kids and their kids now. The same kids who are being cheated by the California public school system because there isn't enough money in 2008 to pay their teachers.
That's punditry and I am sorry about that.
Let me push it. Let's get off Governor Schwarzenegger's back. Let him go make an action movie, collect a ton of money, and give the dough to the teachers so we won't have this idiocy about shutting down classrooms haunt us until the end of our days. Posterity's just around the corner. I think we better be afraid what we'll we'll find there.

Bruce Bellingham is an author, and a columnist for the Marina Times and SF Northside. He's more comfortable with puns than punditry.


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Andrea Marcovicci Channels Coco Chanel

from SF Northside, April 2008

San Francisco has become Andrea Marvovicci's second city, though the practically owns the New York City cabaret scene, (known there as the Queen of Cabaret) she's very comfortable here, and loves to try on new out fits for the stage. She toned up her excellent Lorenz Hart tribute at the late, great Plush Room before heading off to the New York with a triumph.
Now she's polishing off Alan J. Lerner's and André Previn perfumed peach, Coco, based on the life of the irrepressible fashion iconoclast, Coco Chanel.
The show is set in 1954 when it has seem Chanel's star had already faded. But here astonishing comeback was about to begin, with bloody battles with jealous designers and jealous boyfriends. Coco is a revival, yes, but it has not been produced in over 30 years.
The songs in include Almost Mademoiselle ... The World Belongs to the Young ... When Your Lover Says Goodbye ... Fiasco ... and Coco.
“We wanted to find a show for Andrea Marcovicci to star in for our 15th season,” said Company Founder and Artistic Director Greg MacKellan. “Coco has completely disappeared since the Broadway production and a later summer stock tour with Ginger Rogers. The role of Chanel is a perfect fit for Andrea. The script is excellent; I think this show will surprise people.”
Andrea is a familiar face to San Francisco audiences, having performed at The Plush Room for over 25 years. She also appeared in ACT's Saint Joan, and sand at the War Memorial Opera House.
She debuted on Broadway in Ambassador, the musical adaptation of the novel by Henry James, and last appeared in Frank D. Gilroy’s play Any Given Day with Sada Thompson. Her numerous appearances off-Broadway include The Wedding of Iphigenia, Variety Obit, and The Seagull. She performed Ophelia to Sam Waterston’s Hamlet for Joseph Papp’s Shakespeare in the Park. She received rave reviews for her performances in A.C.T. productions of St. Joan (1989), Burn This (1990) and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1991). In Los Angeles, she appeared opposite Anthony Newley in Chaplin, portraying all the legendary actor’s wives.
Her film credits include: The Front (nominated for a Golden Globe Award) with Woody Allen, The Hand with Sir Michael Caine, The Stuff with Michael Moriarty, Spacehunter with Peter Strauss, The Canterville Ghost with Sir John Gielgud, Henry Jaglom’s Someone To Love (featuring Orson Welles in his last film appearance), and Jack the Bear, as Danny DeVito’s wife.
She has enjoyed sold-out houses at the Oak Room of New York’s legendary Algonquin Hotel, the Empire Plush Room in San Francisco, and the Prince Music Theatre in Philadelphia, among others. She has seventeen CDs to her credit. Her most recent releases, How’s Your Romance? Andrea Marcovicci Sings Cole Porter and If I Were A Bell ~ The Songs of Frank Loesser, debuted on her own record label, Andreasong. She is the recipient of two Lifetime Achievement Awards, one from the Manhattan Association of Cabarets and Clubs and the other a Backstage Bistro.
Nina Josephs, who has received accolades for leading roles in several recent 42nd Street Moon productions, appears as Coco Chanel’s protégée, Noelle. Noelle’s interfering boyfriend Georges is played by C.J. Blankenship, with Michael Patrick Gaffney as Louis Greff and Sandy Schlechter as Pignol. The upstart designer Sebastien Baye is played by Tom Orr.
Tickets ranging from $22 - $38 are available through the 42nd Street Moon Box Office at 415/255-8207 (Open Tues. – Fri. from noon to 5 p.m.), or through the website www.42ndstmoon.org . All performances are presented at San Francisco’s intimate Eureka Theatre, 215 Jackson St. in San Francisco. The show runs from April 25 - May 11.
Coco will be directed by Los Angeles-based writer-director, Mark D. Kaufmann, who helmed several shows during 42nd Street Moon's first two seasons (Sweet Adeline, Hollywood Pinafore, The Cat & the Fiddle, and Oh, Lady Lady). Kaufmann is returning to the Moon for the first time since 1994. Music Director will be Michael Horsley, who last conducted Andrea Marcovicci for her appearance in 42nd Street Moon’s production of On a Clear Day You Can See Forever.

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The Enduring hal Holbroook

The Final Word, April 08
by Bruce Bellingham

Hal Holbrook has been haunting me these days. Yes, I know he was nominated for Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars for Sean Penn's Into the Wild, but it still startled me to see him on the broadcast. He's quite on in years. Still he's always been ubiquitous. He played the baddest and roguest of all rogue cops in Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry movie in San Francisco way back when. Hal was so convincingly evil. Clint Eastwood can hire some terrific villains. The great part of that is that in person, Hal Holbrook seems like the nicest, most gracious guy in the world. He probably is. I met him once -- at an intimate party in his home in Hollywood that he shares with his wife, Dixie Carter. She embodies real Southern Charm. She takes your hand while she speaks to you, and gently strokes your fingers as she makes your acquaintance. Its a mixture of Apple Pan Dowdy and a Date Rape Drug. She does it with no effort nor pretense. She's just, well, charming. Hal's a bit like that but I don't recall him holding my hand. I wouldn't have minded. They are both lovely people.

Hal Holbroook has played Mark Twain on stage almost as long as Mark Twain played himself on terra firma. Hal Holbrook, for all practical reasons, IS Mark Twain. He got a big kick to learn that Mark Twain and I worked at the same paper, The San Francisco Examiner. Not at the same time, of course. Mr. Holbrook had a lot of questions, and Mr. Holbrook had all the answers about the era of Samuel Clemens and The Examiner. All I could could muster was a lame, "It hasn't been the same at the paper since Mark Twain left."

It's hard to imagine playing the same character on stage for over 50 years. Surely he picked up some of the mannerisms and quirks of the Twain character. The great character actor Raymond Massey played President Lincoln on Broadway for over 1,000 performances. He had adopted a few Lincolnesque twitches. This moved George S. Kaufman to snip when he saw Massey having lunch one day at Sardi's: "He won't be happy until he's assassinated."

Hal Holbrook was in San Francisco the other day, performing at the Jewish Community Center. I was told he had no time to accede to an interview with me. Perhaps he'd rather make one more clandestine run on a riverboat on the Sacramento Delta for old times' sake. I'm cool with that. Then I saw him on TV in the middle of the night, proffering some financial package in a tediously long infomercial. Then I realized: The real Mark Twain once went bankrupt and had a terror of losing his money again. So I can understand why Mr. Holbrook would channel this frame of mind. Most actors do. After all, Mark Twain observed, "The lack of money is the root of all evil."

Do you know what actors talk about at Hollywood parties? Where they can find they're next job. I hope Hal Holbrook never has to worry about things like that anymore. He's such a great artist, such a bedrock American figure. He's a indefatigable testament to both theater & history.

Perhaps he's haunting me these days because he represents such a solid fellow in these precarious, unreliable times -- and how susceptible I am to them.



Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay and writes for the Marina Times.

Bellingam by the Bay, April 2008

There were a few false starts but the opening of the Rrazz Room at the Hotel Nikko, finally happened on St. Patrick's Day. It was a real splashy event, has, in one grand gesture, revitalized the San Francisco cabaret scene with a show that featured some of the best acts in the country. With Mike Greensill at the piano, Andrea Marcovicci ... Paul West ... Sally Kellerman ... Lainie Kazan ... Mary Wilson ... Freda Payne ... Sharon McKnight ... and Welsa Whitfield flitted on stage and dazzled -- a carnival of canaries. Singer-pianist Tim Hockenberry provided a little male energy. The chantootsies, as Andrea calls them, took the stage by storm, and had a swell time. In the audience was another diva, Keely Smith, who later played four nights at the Rrazz. Club owners Robert Kotonly & Rory Paull are triumphant, as well they should be. ...

Tom Wolfe, the concierge of all concierges at the Fairmont, has been out ill lately. I miss my regular fix of stories from him. Thanks to Tom, I got to meet Sir Edmund Hillary a few years ago, and got a chance to ask the man who conquered Everest if he was nervous reaching the crest of the formidable Nob Hill. I'm happy to say he was amused. Usually Sir Edmund's trusted Tibetan sherpa, who made the climb with him in 1953, is overlooked so I will mention him, Tenzing Norgay. One must not forget one's sherpa. ... It's a great name for a zine, SubtleTea.com, is carrying an interview with one of the City's great characters, Cantara Christopher, who talks about the future of small press, 1970s theater and the "Golden Age of Porn," though I am not quite sure when that was. ...

Pianist Don Asher has played with the greats, and these days he plays Sunday afternoon at the great Big 4. He apologized the other day for not being able to tear off his usual ragtime licks because his shoulder was hurting him. He's got to be one of the few players who has injured himself by bending his elbow by playing tennis. Now into his 80s, Don still tears it up on the tennis court. An eloquent, classy, sweet man, one may not know that he has also published several books on jazz history, including a biography of Hampton Hawes. "Hampton was sentenced to ten years for drug possession back in the 1950s," Don recalls. "He decided to write to the then-new First lady, Jackie Kennedy, in the White House, and ask for help. I'm not sure how it happened but six months lady, Jack Kennedy issued him a full pardon." We think it may have something to do with Pierre Salinger, Kennedy's press secretary, who was a gifted pianist who studied with Estelle Caen in San Francisco, Herb Caen's sister. It's hard to imagine an act of enlightened charity happening like that today where this president we have wouldn't know Hampton Hawes from Hee Haw ...

Jack McShadow aka John Harris, who appears in Zodiac, has been whooping it up these days now that he got his first residual check from the producers, all of $47.05. John threatens to take it all to Reno on Emperor Norton's birthday (aka Valentine's Day), drop it on a roulette table, and let the chips fall as they may. John was chief barman and storyteller at Original Joe's, the jewel of the Tenderloin, until a terrible fire shut the red naugahyde treasure down last fall. Now the staffers and the regulars wait for the insurance check to arrive, which we hope exceeds the residuals a wee bit, and trust that the money arrives soon. It's not true that vermicelli is a dish that's best served cold. ...

Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the Marina Times and the SF Northside. He invites bits, bites & pieces of bric-a-brac for this column.

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