Thursday • 4
FROM CORSETS TO BODY PIERCING – AMERICAN GIRLS AND THEIR BODY PROJECTS, AN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE We've been waiting to talk about the Girl Culture exhibition at the Southeast Museum of Photography – we love girls and the smart women who study them. An award-winning talent, Lauren Greenfield published Girl Culture in 2002, a book of her photographs with text by Joan Jacobs Brumberg, now in its third printing. There are several exhibitions in circulation through 2006, carrying Greenfield's feministic images of women – strippers to softball players – that somehow bond the subjects to the viewer. But this event calls on Brumberg – who also authored The Body Project and Fasting Girls: The History of Anorexia Nervosa – to talk about the evolution of the painful practices women subject themselves to in the name of beauty. Pumpkin-pie facial, anyone? (reception 5:30 p.m.-6:30 p.m., lecture 7 p.m.-8:30 p.m. in Building 110, Room 112 at Southeast Museum of Photography, Daytona Beach; 386-254-4475; free)
HANGING CHAD: POLITICALLY SPEAKING The 1st Thursdays events at Orlando Museum of Art always take place on the first Thursday of the month. So it'll be two days "after" the election that a 1st Thursday is due. The organizers thought ahead to what the mood would be like a couple of days after the balloting and, based on last year, "hanging chad" was the buzz. It's highly likely that something else could hang up the declaration of a winner this year. With that in mind, the OMA's party will be collecting points for passionate voters of all stripes – the art world draws from every corner – mixed up with beer and wine and provocative art. Consider David Miguel Ritland's "Fictitious State"; he says "concern about vote recounts, polling methods and the notion that one person is either solid red or blue converge in this imaginary construction." "Hanging Chads" could be a feisty brew. (6 p.m.-9 p.m. at Orlando Museum of Art, 407-896-4231; $9)
Friday • 5
PLATES AND SPOONS It'd be too easy to poke fun at Crealdé's new exhibit of plates and platters, along with the spoons at Mennello – even though they'd be a killer combo at a metrosexual dinner party. But that wouldn't be fair. All of our art museums are having a rough financial season (hurricanes, funding cuts, hurricanes), and are doing their best to immerse us in enlightening culture. Though the Crealdé kitchenwares are utilitarian, they are beautiful. A dozen or so notable area artists (including Michael Galletta, Susan Vey and Vincent Sansone) handcrafted the dazzling ceramic plates and platters, which are striking enough to hang on the wall but not too fancy to be pulled down and filled with Cheetos. And they are for sale. (It's that time of year again). Titled A Stirring Story, the silver Navajo flatware at Mennello was once highly collectible as souvenirs for tourists venturing into the Southwest territories. Considered together, the plate and spoon collections are a study of marketing inventiveness. (reception for Plates and Platters (Revisited),
7 p.m.-9 p.m. at Crealdé School of Art, Winter Park, continues through Jan. 8, 407-671-1886; free.
A Stirring Story at The Mennello Museum of American Art, continues through Jan. 5, 407-246-4278; free)
JUCIFER When the partners-in-love-and-rock duo Jucifer first broke out of the dark, sludgy Athens underbelly that gave birth to bands like Harvey Milk and The Martians, audiences took an immediate interest in guitarist/vocalist Amber Valentine and drummer Ed Livengood's fractured art-metal. Their 1998 release on Crack Rock Records showcased Valentine's ability at distilling the sweetest melodies from the simplest of power chords, and coupled with Ed Livengood's animated, hard-smacking drumming, they emerged as the Southern-rock version of White Stripes. And when the big-label deal ensued, Jucifer responded by getting successively weirder and more sonically dense on 2001's dirgy Lambs EP and 2002's guttural growl I Name You Destroyer. And if their latest EP, War Bird, is any indicator, expect their newest full-length (in the works) to be even heavier and more complex. And here's hoping Will kept his generators around from the hurricanes to handle Valentine's much-vaunted 36-amp wall of sound. (with Dove; 9 p.m. at Will's Pub, 407-898-5070; $8)
LUNCH WITH BOB EUBANKS Chapters is well on its way to cementing a reputation as the most bizarre and schizophrenic bookstore in town. We could deal with the whole café aspect, as book-loners like us always feel weird sitting by ourselves in regular restaurants with nothing but a book for company. (Plus, they give you a discount on books when you eat!) And their "readings by (impersonators of) dead authors" have been perversely entertaining. But when they added on a massive video game parlor (with a 100-inch screen!), we were left scratching our heads. In keeping with their books/food/games/weirdness motif, Chapters has outdone themselves with a book-signing by Bob Eubanks. Get it? Newlywed Game host. Signing books. While you eat lunch. It's all there! Genius, we say. Utter genius. (noon at Chapters on Park, 407-644-2880; $10)
Saturday • 6
BLOWFLY Back in the '70s, Blowfly (aka Clarence Reid) was penning songs like "She's Too Fat to Fuck" and "Can I Come In Your Mouth" while establishing himself (as Reid) as a successful songwriter, writing cleaner lyrics for recognized artists K.C. and the Sunshine Band and Betty Wright, among others. As Blowfly, Reid's potty mouth often parodied others' songs (turning "Rock Around the Clock" into "Suck Around the Clock," for example), and Blowfly's Porno Freak became the first album in American musical history to be banned for foul language. While Blowfly's career peaked during the '70s, his underground cult following remained steady during the '80s and '90s, during which Reid continued to release albums and play abroad (and, of course, sing about broads in less-than-flattering ways). On his upcoming Fahrenheit 69, Blowfly offers a glimpse into what it would be like to be a black president ("Blowfly for President: '04"), throwing a rump-shaking array of funk, rock and soul into the mix. In a live setting, watching a man approaching 60 donning a cartoon-like costume and spitting out rhymes like "She's too fat to fuck/all she can do is suck" is a sign that there's nothing wrong with becoming a dirty old man. (with The Evidents;
9 p.m. at Will's Pub, 407-898-5070; $8)
SUBHUMANS Just as we were ready to chalk up this continuing Subhumans reunion as just another seminal '80s punk band ready to cash in on nostalgia, we remembered that three of the original 'Humans continued playing as Citizen Fish, which gives them exactly 60 punk points and a modicum of credibility. But as we're allergic to ska-punk, we've never been able to actually sit through an entire CF album. So we contented ourselves that the Fishmen were carrying on the Subhumans' legacy in their own stale way and forgot about them. Then this reunion rekindled our interest and we realized that the only thing about the Subhumans we remember at all is the skull design on their records and T-shirts. When we refamiliarized ourselves with some of the old releases, the songs all rang familiar chords, but none emerged from our internal Brit-punk medley (which features competing snippets from various GBH, Exploited and Discharge albums). Call us poseurs for not remembering "Religious Wars," "Mickey Mouse Is Dead" and "Subvert City," but buy us a T-shirt anyway. (with Caustic Christ, 7 Crowns;
6 p.m. at The Social, 407-246-1419; $10)
LEWIS BLACK While Jon Stewart is the undisputed star of The Daily Show, the show's hard-earned reputation as America's top resource for fake news has shined a deserved spotlight on its peerless stable of correspondents and commentators. And none embodies our angst-ridden zeitgeist like Lewis Black, the unsinkably ornery essayist whose anti-stupidity screeds are TV's best catharsis for the perennially pissed off. Hunched over and pushing literate invective through a trachea full of broken glass and bile, Black favors the show with the same reasoned derision he brings to stages across the nation on his well-received stand-up tours. In both forums, his success hinges on the careful cultivation of one of comedy's most enduring personae: that of an inherently reasonable man who wouldn't have to shout if everyone else weren't so damn pathetic. Makes sense to us. (7 p.m. at Hard Rock Live, 407-351-5483; $32.75)
Monday • 8
GOLD CHAINS & SUE CIE Topher LaFata (aka Gold Chains) has been going along his merry, brainy, geek-hop way for a couple of years, making records that are as weird as they are fun. As willing to ridicule hip-hop conventions as he was willing to ridicule electroclash's fashionista tendencies, his albums have been alarmingly self-aware, but completely engaging and hilarious. Bringing occasional femme-foil Sue Cie into the mix for his latest album, When the World Was Our Friend (Kill Rock Stars) was a brilliant move, as her counterpoint is totally, like, on point, making the album surprisingly substantial. However, we can't let him get away with this little self-aggrandizing bit of hip-puffery from a recent press release: "we were listening specifically to stuff like old Pink Floyd, John's Children, T-Rex, Black Flag, acid house, Beach Boys, Luomo, The Doors, mid-'90s techno, old psyche records, Pleasure Forever, X, Song of Zarathrustra and Antioch Arrow to name a few." Hey Topher: Screw you and your name-dropping. If you weren't delivering music that was enjoyable and the exact opposite of those "influences," we'd have to hate you. As it is, we're quite happy to say that it sounds to us like you listen to a lot of Peaches and Peaches and Herb, and that's cool enough for us. (with Yip Yip, Cracker Jackson;
9 p.m. at Screamers, 407-244-0299; $8)
