Thrilla on Third

Return of the Branded Man

The semi-subterranean recording complex behind the Capitol Records tower is one of those mythic places that few civilians ever get into, and the grand Studio A, site of all the big Sinatra/Nat Cole/Keely Smith dates, is the facility's spiritual crown jewel. It is said that late in life, Sinatra would regularly book the studio and install a full orchestra, only to show up and announce, "Not today, boys." On a recent Friday afternoon, Studio A was abuzz again, filled with a weird mix of industry hacks, flacks, scribblers and musicians hoping to see another legend perform. Merle Haggard, the hit-making California iconoclast and Country Music Hall of Famer who recently re-signed to Capitol after a 25-year absence, was set to do a deal-celebrating showcase set. Peppered among the gruesome Nashville cats were a family of simple country folk, from Grandpa to toddler, turned out in their best bib & tucker, and while hopes of finding Haggard's outspoken airwave chum Dr. Gene Scott fizzled, Newlywed Game host Bob Eubanks (a promoter of Hag shows in the mid-'60s) did show. Perpetually overrated producer Don Was brought both left thumbs, and oddly enough, there was a drummer from one of San Francisco's most vaunted '60s hippie bands, spouting tales of peace, love and spite as he related how, after he squawked for back royalties, the band's lead singer coolly offered a chauffeur $5,000 to kill him ("because it'd be cheaper than going to court"). Following the obligatory intro mush from a Capitol big wheel ("40 number-one hits . . . poet of the common man . . . we're going to make money on this deal!"), Haggard appeared. Manicured and touched up even to the eyebrows, he launched into an hourlong set that opened with "Unforgettable," title track of Haggard's new album of pop standards. He forgot "As Time Goes By" 's lyrics, did a superb "Pennies from Heaven," then kicked into "The Bottle Let Me Down," a vintage slice of hard-country misery that went upside the head with delightful emphasis. He ran through some of his biggest Capitol hits, played some wig-flipping guitar and, as ever, sang with the interpretive sensitivity and communicative bite that has distinguished him: His performance of the Willie Nelson ballad "It Always Will Be" was indescribably tender and expressive. The generally saturnine Haggard seemed disturbingly happy as he took the gathering through his career to date how his primary influence was Lefty Frizzell ("I asked him why he never wore a hat onstage. He said, "Oh man, you try singin' "Alwa-a-a-a-ys La-a-a-te" with a hat on it'll take off like a UFO!"), and how he stole not only an old Fred Maddox gag ("Being back here, it feels just like yesterday." Pause. "And you know what a hell of a day yesterday was . . .") but "the sound that we established here that is, the sound we stole from Wynn Stewart and Buck Owens." Haggard's band, the Strangers, featured both the steel guitarist Norm Hamlet and drummer Biff Adam, key longtimers recently sidelined by poor health but now looking dapper-fit. They played at a phenomenal level. Even the novelty romp "Motorcycle Cowboy" got an impossibly lysergic New Orleans second-line ass-shaking arrangement that demonstrated how far these players can go at any given moment, the kind of flexibility and range that made Haggard the only country artist ever to appear on the cover of the jazz bible Downbeat. Capitol stopped the show - likely Hag would've played on indefinitely - so a representative of the Academy of Country Music could announce its new Merle Haggard award (reserved only for those who can match his wins in five of the academy's biggest categories) and presented him with a very large framed proclamation. It was an anticlimactic finish and, perhaps appropriately, about five seconds after Haggard left the room, some clodhopper knocked over the ACM's carelessly placed offering, shattering the glass into a thousand shards. That's country, hoss. —Jonny Whiteside

Of Thee I Swing

Dr. Susan Block, whose sexually charged Web site and former cable-TV show have made her a kind of anti-Dr. Laura, threw her fifth annual Eros Day celebration Saturday at her downtown loft, billing the evening as a counterinaugural ball that included "blue entertainment." Lots of locals in all shapes and sizes and varying degrees of inhibition wandered about, some in maid outfits, a few handling snakes, others cross-dressing or just gawking. Amid erotic paintings, George W. Bush masks and vitrines of hand-carved dildos, a copulating couple - Big D and Leila Swan - portrayed Eros and Venus and went at it on a leopard-print bed that was surrounded by amateur photogs, porn geeks, and lots of guys with point-and-shoots. (Block had to ask one enthusiast to withdraw his videocam's lens, which had encroached upon Ms. Swan's no-fly zone to the point that it was almost competing with Big D's . . . big D.) You wanted to yell, "Down in front," but thought better of it because of the unpredictable response. Elsewhere, a Spanish expat named "Los Angeles" had modestly X'd over her nipples with some black electrical tape and fronted a band called Orgasmical. She told me how, after only six months here, she already has made the move up from living in Hollywood to the Westside. There were the brightly wigged bozos of the Porn Klown Posse, the Nymphs of Zorbacchus most of whom pranced nude around a guy dressed as Pan, though some kept on their underwear and Hollie Wood, a porn actress who was happy just to walk around buck-naked and get trussed up with bungee cords. The bacchanal had its serious side, in the form of a fund drive to save the bonobo chimpanzees (a pet project of Block's - bonobos are said to be especially oversexed, and talented enough to perform the act in the missionary position), as well as an opportunity for somber political reflection in the wake of Bush's second inauguration. Since 9/11 and the new puritanism promoted by the Bush administration, Block's writings have become increasingly politicized especially because of the frost that both the Federal Communications Commission and the Department of Homeland Security have breathed upon Americans' First Amendment rights. (Block's essays can be found on Alexander Cockburn and Jeffrey St. Claire's Counterpunch Web site.) The administration's Cromwellian disdain for skin has set Block on a tear, and, true to her colors, she was attired Saturday night in Democratic blue, right down to her halter top and stockings. Block encouraged the partiers, many of whom paid $75 admission, to get wild, naked and outrageous you know, to swing. Most of the people I saw, however, seemed to belong to the great electorate of voyeurs, preferring to watch the ball's performers, such as the dominatrix who peed into a bowl that was eventually accepted by a thirsty tranny wearing a blue maid's outfit. The good doctor, who was miked and followed by a video camera for the evening, offered revelers a champagne glass filled with "female ejaculate." When Block passed the flute to me, I admitted that I was on the wagon, and she tactfully retreated. My wife and I left after a couple of hours of eyes-wide-shut partying and so never knew if everyone took it all off later. I think the answer, however, could be found at the crowded buffet table that featured caviar or at the mobbed free bar. For most of the people there, on the anniversary date of the Roe v. Wade decision, it seemed to be more a matter of sturgeon roe versus wading through the drinkers than going wild. But I wondered, as we headed for the stairs, if sex and the right to have it, show it and shout about it will now become the frontline of protest in a country bored by policy debates and resigned to endless war. Forget the old NEA battles over blasphemy and obscenity perhaps now we've entered a phase when the porn stars and suburban swingers of enlightened ridicule are our best hope against the newest cold war. —Steven Mikulan

Overheard . . .

Saturday night at a pre-screening discussion between directors Curtis Hanson and Alexander Payne about Michael Curtiz's 1950 The Breaking Point, chosen by Payne for UCLA's "The Movie That Inspired Me" series. Hanson: "Did you deliberately have your actors talk quickly in Sideways?" Payne: "Yeah, it's a long script."