The Weekend Out

If You Were Me…

…here’s what you’d see Feb 12 through Feb 15.

By Steve Wiecking February 11, 2009


Sometimes life must be lived on the edge. So give a chance to Grub, the latest piece from Portland troupe tEEth, which has On the Boards boasting its “sensory-rich amalgamations of contemporary dance and performance art.” When they work, such amalgamations convey the overwhelming chaos of our lives better than words can. When they don’t work, well, I get to review them (Cry, contemporary dancers, cry!). Anyway, I’m going Thursday but you have until Saturday.

I’m hoping Joan Rivers busts my gut at 7 at the Triple Door—although I suspect her 9:30 show will be nastier—so I can pop over to the Tractor later and catch the 5th anniversary of “Awesome”. The local septet (I once called them the Beatles having a go at being the Monkees but I don’t think they liked that) are smart, happy guys to be around, and they’re keeping good company by inviting the burgeoning, big-voiced We Are Golden, featuring Seattle’s Sarah Rudinoff and Gretta Harley, to join the bill.

Saturday afternoon I’ll drop in again on the fantastic William Kentridge exhibit at the Henry. His charcoal, stop-motion animations—including a mesmerizing bit inside a medicine cabinet mounted on the wall—hint at the even larger work he’ll be giving us next month with the multi-media opera The Return of Ulysses.

Since Joan and the “Awesome” boys get my time on Friday, I’m taking in WET’s black comedy The Mistakes Madeline Made on Saturday night. A few overly ambitious stumbles notwithstanding, this is the rare troupe that I can safely say has never wasted my time.

“Oh, heaven’s quite a climb,” we’re told on the Gutter Twins’ Saturnalia, one of last year’s best albums. The climb is probably rougher because the Twins’ blistering music scorches the earth beneath their ladder. Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan, who form the Twins, will be at the Showbox on Sunday, an appropriate evening to hold a search for salvation. If you were me, you’d be there to help them on their way.

Oh: See The Lion King already. Yes, I do believe that big cats and their mates are too busy violently mounting each other on the African Savanna to care about whether or not they can feel the love tonight. But forget Elton John and Tim Rice’s gooey pop balladry and give in to musical theater’s most magnificent example of style as substance—director Julie Taymor made a small miracle out of Disney product.

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