Lighting up the joint: UM’s Convocation Center is turning into quite the lucrative concert venue. This past Saturday, Power 96 and an auto-maker hosted a reggae event that had a sold out crowd of local Miamians and UM students getting “irie.”

Opener Red Rat took stabs at political commentary, telling everyone that Dubya should smoke some herb and chill out. Inner Circle performed their “Bad Boys” signature before the Marley Brothers lit up the stage with an extensive ensemble and got people shaking their “ting” to the riddim.

Before the headliners appeared, booty dancers entertained the crowd. When Sean Paul, Beenie Man and Wayne Wonder hit the stage, the venue was happily dazed.

Spider is a perfect film for the chronically depressed moviegoer nursing a fetish for the mentally ill. Its main subject is a man named Spider, played with a sort of withdrawn brilliance by Ralph Fiennes (Schindler’s List), who stumbles and mumbles through a story of perplexing mystery and heavy drama. The result is a movie exercising a sense of mood and timing that is entirely original.

Spider begins the film by checking into some kind of halfway house for the mentally distraught. His disorder is not immediately revealed, but it’s obvious that he has one, with a demeanor that mirrors an overly neurotic Woody Allen. Fiennes is the rare actor who can get away with having no understandable dialogue throughout an entire film and still give a superb, but more importantly, unpretentious performance.

A strict older woman runs the halfway house and this provides the work’s underlining setting and relationship. The only other place Spider visits is his surreal past, visualized by director David Cronenberg (The Dead Zone, Scanners) as a creepy place where the modern day Spider is a peeping Tom who observes his younger self and his troubled parents.

The idea is similar to “A Christmas Carol,” wherein the characters from the past don’t notice the main character’s eerie presence. A logical problem with these flashbacks is that Spider often follows his parents, played by Miranda Richardson (The Crying Game) and Gabriel Byrne (The Usual Suspects), on their journeys away from the younger version of himself. Careful, sober viewers will detect that Spider doesn’t really know what occurred in these scenes, and can only imagine them. For those confused by the film, this is the key to placing together the plotline.

Nothing else really happens. Spider slips between his present residence in the halfway house and his past in a small, claustrophobic home. Newcomer Bradley Hall, whose ghostly white skin and delicate frame complement an impressive performance, plays the younger Spider. The character’s deep psychological complexity, as both child and adult, is the lingering accomplishment of the film.

Unlike A Beautiful Mind, Spider is unafraid to be consumed by the uneasy world of mental illness, obviously at the cost of entertainment. The film’s colors are grayed and worn, much like the minds of the men in the halfway house, and Cronenberg is certainly a master storyteller, even if, on the surface there’s not much of a story to tell.

The ending of Spider delivers the realization that’s been so carefully plotted from the first few minutes, and it’s satisfying enough to justify the extensive set up. Still, it’s so buried in depressed and repressed memories that it’ll leave many viewers thinking the film ends abruptly.
See Spider for its “case study” acting, Cronenberg’s haunting direction, and a plotline that challenges until the end, something not said for most of today’s releases. But if you and your date are in the mood for “lighter” mental illness fare, skip Spider and go rent the way funnier Tom Cruise flick Rain Man.

Shawn Wines can be reached at shawnwines@aol.com.

If you are a member of the trendier-than-thou crowd (or of you think you are), you’ll feel right at home at the Design District’s newest restaurant-cum-lounge, monosyllable-named spot called Grass.

Once past the muscled bouncers and black velvet ropes guarding the otherwise unassuming entrance (reservations required), the space itself is quite decadent. A grass-thatched, pitched roof covers a central lounge area in the otherwise uncovered space. The larger booths have their own pitched roofs, inspiring a feeling closer to Polynesia than downtown Miami. The tables are of dark woods, lit by candles that fill the space with a yellow glow. The lounge area, filling half the restaurant, has low couches and tables, again of dark wood, while grass grows in planters on some of the tables and on the bar.

My dining companion and I arrived at precisely the time of our reservation and were directed to wait at the bar for our table. We enjoyed a cocktail and waited. Now, some wait for a table is understandable, but to be made to wait 45 minutes past the time of our reservation was not, especially as the restaurant seemed empty and I could see many open tables. In fact, the couple waiting next to us at the bar grew tired and annoyed at the wait, and left.

While we hung around (and waited, and waited), we enjoyed a live DJ spinning ambient house. Grass attempts to be both a restaurant and a lounge, with the kitchen closing at midnight, but the lounge open till three. My companion remarked that this would be a better experience if we had come only to lounge.

The crowd was typical Miami see-and-be-seen; waif-thin models hanging off the arms of too-tanned, potbellied middle-aged men old enough to be their fathers, an assortment of hipsters, well-dressed and groomed; these folks fit in here at Grass as they would at B.E.D., or Nobu, or any of Miami’s uber-trendy hotspot-of-the-moment places. The bartender told me to come for Happy Hour on Fridays from 5 to 8 p.m.

When we were (finally) seated, the menus were presented with small reading lights and four sections: appetizers, salads, ceviches and main courses-all Asian-fusion cuisine. I started off with the Lemongrass Coconut Roast Pumpkin Soup, which was spicy, but the flavors combined were each so subtle that they overwhelmed each other. My companion chose the Merida Ceviche, and here was an outstanding choice. The fish was very fresh, combined in perfect proportion with avocado, red Bermuda onion, and other vegetables. The presentation was colorful and inviting, with crisp wonton-skin crackers.

For our main course, I ordered a Shitake and Edemame Bean Risotto.
This was prepared with truffle oil, and served with a furikake parmesan
waffle placed on top. Here too I questioned the chef’s choice of ingredients. The flavors of the mushrooms and the soybeans were undetectable because of the richness of the truffle oil. As a fan of truffles however, I enjoyed my truffle-flavored risotto.

My companion chose a salmon steak, prepared with a ginger sauce, and served with asparagus. This was delicious-the salmon a generous portion, flaky and moist, with crisp asparagus. Other items on the menu that we wanted to try included Cumin-seared Beef Tenderloin served with Jerusalem artichokes, rostoi potatoes and an Aji panko sauce. Also sounding yummy was a Shitake Ginger Lamb Ossobucco.

The ambience more than made up for any minor culinary disappointment, and I didn’t mind spending the $7 – $15 per appetizer, nor the $15 – $30 per entr

Wildchild
Secondary Protocol
**

Wildchild’s debut solo album, Secondary Protocol, is an album that shows signs of brilliant potential but never follows through. The timid beats coupled with uninspired, generic subject matter make for a boring rap album from an artist who never quite made the impact he should have. Wildchild is not new to the hip-hop scene. He’s one third of the group, the Lootpack, who achieved kudos from critics with their 1999 debut album Soundpieces: Da Antidote. Wildchild comes off as a typical west coast MC who tries so hard to avoid rapping about gang banging and partying that his lyrics actually suffer as a result.
Don’t get me wrong, Wildchild is a talented MC but the production almost seem to confine his talents. Wildchild’s flow is fast, and the beats here seem to come off as if they were made for a Jay Dee swag smoke session. His skills definitely shine through on numerous tracks, such as “The Movement Part 2,” where he spits about the impact of hip-hop over a guitar-laced track courtesy of producer Oh No. On “Knickknack 2002,” Wildchild invites Medaphoar and underground legend Percee P to trade verses with him on a track locked up in old school detention.
Ironically, the song’s lyrics express frustration with the current state of hip-hop. On “Operation Radio Raid” he takes aim at the payola tactics of mainstream radio. He seems as frustrated with the critics as they are with him. On “Puttin in Work” he burns off a tangent about society and critics rhyming “words of remorse will get you knocked off course. Regret it. Take negative criticism, cock back and watch me embed it.” He is no doubt defiant enough to achieve what he wants artistically. So, why is this intelligent rapper holding back? Secondary Protocol is merely a mid-1990s party album that won’t find play at any decent party this year.

– Kevin Jaeger

Mr. Scruff
Trouser Jazz
***1/2

So, you’re sitting around with nothing on your mind (not even the lyrics to “Many Men”) but you’re still looking for something to bob your head to…you may be in luck. Trouser Jazz, the third album from Manchester crate raider Mr. Scruff, has enough daydream loops for the chronic hummer to entertain pretty girls in elevators for weeks on end. Take note that there’s rap with an English accent on “Vibrate,” but that’s the only transatlantic hip-hop lint you’ll discover in these pants.
The rest of the songs provide fitting background music for activities ranging from…well, it’s background music, figure it out. Each track is stunningly uncomplicated and does little to offend and a lot more to keep you moving, but the back-to-back break beat format wears a little thin after a bit. Most of the tracks tend to sway away from full compositions, instead relying on a few loops to keep the beat going.
Tracks like “Sweet Smoke” and “Shrimp” start off with a kind of “call waiting” tune that quickly turns from a melody you’d hang up on into one the fools at Talking Fingers needs to intercept. The dreamlike “Valley of the Sausages” is a sublime departure from the light, bouncy, but equally enjoyable “Ug” and “Giffin.” There’s a sort, “Who is this?” response from unacquainted ears when they hear this disc – not because it’s annoying and people only desire sounds from mouths that they see everyday on every channel and every billboard, but because it’s different.
As I’m sure you’ve been notified by via a billboard or TV: “Different is Good.” If you’re not familiar with trip hop or you think Tricky is a weird little elf, then maybe this is the ideal kind of vessel to cruise on.

– Sven Barth

The Life & Art staff can be reached at HurricaneAccent@hotmail.com.

Bordering on the rickety edges of insanity is part of the creative engine fueling veteran L.A. punk and ska band Fishbone. Their poignant and impetuous performances has lead them through a madcap musical journey for almost two decades now and their vigorous dynamism hasn’t ebbed down yet.
“Everyone’s a little crazy and has the potential to be really crazy,” says John Norwood Fisher, the group’s bassist and co-vocalist. ” ‘Cause everybody got a thang, whether it’s freaky or like a super-duper powerful man who likes to get beat, spit on or shitted on by women. If there wasn’t football, most of those huge players would be thugs. Everyone has to find a way to channel their energy and have an undiscovered potential of insanity.”
Settled in the lounge area of BillboardLive as engineers go on with sound check for last Friday’s show, Fisher packs a small pipe and mulls over the prevalence of the word “nuts” in their lingo (“nutmeg,” “nutcase,” “nutwerxx”…).
“It’s like insanity is the last taboo,” he explains. “[A while ago], one of our band members lost his motherfucking mind and we all lose our minds in a way or another on a regular basis.”
Perhaps Fishbone also lost their tolerance of the music industry since they recently founded their own label, Nuttsactor 5, and severed most of their ties with major record companies. They’ve been at it for a while, since the original crew formed the band in 1979 while still in junior high. They played the local clubs around L.A. in the early ’80s and soon signed to Columbia, releasing their first LP, In Your Face, in 1985.
Combining a pulsating tour de force in their live shows with their freewheeling experimentation in music, prodding through the boundaries of funk, ska and rock, they generated a battalion of albums that amply contributed to the evolving late ’80s and ’90s alternative scene-notably, Truth and Soul in 1988, The Reality of My Surroundings in 1991 and Chim Chim’s Badass Revenge in 1996.
Despite a widespread following, they never reached mainstream success or substantial record sales, and after 2000’s The Psychotic Friends Nuttwerx, disgruntled by the distributions of profits, they moved on independently (composed of vocalist/saxophonist Angelo Moore, Fisher on bass, Spacey T on guitar, John Steward on drums and Walter Kibby II on pocket trumpet). Lately, their Friendliest Psychosis of All EP features an extensive jam with Primus, Styles, George Clinton and Buckethead and Sony produced their Essential Fishbone LP this year. They’re shooting for a new studio album this fall. Having no fear of getting old, their demeanor is still youthful and they don’t give a damn that the music they play doesn’t always appear on Top 40 radio, as long as the right people are listening.
“It’s a matter of visibility and touching the kids,” Fisher says. “Ska was never big in the mainstream. It would have to go through some sort of metamorphosis or it’ll come back later as a revival thing. And, sure, it’s being electronicized. Jungle music is part of that.”

Amidst a proclivity to ironic mischievousness and playful nuttiness, Fishbone has always been a band spreading sharp social commentaries and uncensored political messages, advocating the legalization of pot and selling “Fuck Racism” T-shirts at their concerts, for instance. After taking a few more hits and explaining how the group has been Cannabis Cup judges two times in Amsterdam and always tastes the local herbal flavors wherever they go, Fisher gives his thoughts on current political situations.
“It’s amazing to hear a soldier saying to CNN, ‘Yeah I’m against the war, but when I talk to my troops, I tell them I still have to do this,” he says. “Something is bothering me deep down inside and it has nothing to do with what I’m seeing. People need to demand more info because there’s some backroom bullshit happening. There’s a war going on and the casualties are kinda low, but there’s a lot of destruction and, at the same time, a lot of our liberties are being taken away.”
The group also created a soundtrack for a porn movie, showing their affinity for sexual entertainment, and Fisher smiles puckishly when it’s mentioned.
“Most of us grew up watching some porno at some kind of level and, you know, you become a rock star or whatever you wanna call it and get to meet your favorite entertainers,” he says, laughing. “A lot of soundtracks to porn are shitty, so I figured it would be a lot easier to watch if it had cooler music. I also wanna do this side-project-a fully improvised 25 person jam with a porno going on at the same time for an internet pay-per-view film.”
Yet one of Fishbone’s greatest assets and what sets them apart from the rest is their tremendous vehemence and showmanship on stage-Moore has dived into the crowd from massive speakers, popped out his knee when performing histrionic acrobatics and, at their Miami show, stirred up crazy sound effects with a theremin, played by moving a hand between two electrodes.
“We watched a legacy of great entertainers when growing up,” Fisher remembers, “like KISS or P-Funk, and I was a teenager in the first few years of punk rock, watching the Sex Pistols, and everything around us was wild, even the streets we were in. When it comes to hit the stage, it’s like somebody just discovered electricity. Shit gets lit the fuck up!”
No doubt, there’s no better way to word it.

Omar Sommereyns can be reached at SOASIS@aol.com

The White Stripes frontman Jack White has his own label, Third Man Records, and is releasing an LP (Do Rabbits Wonder) by their first signed band Whirlwind Heat on April 15th. Moreover, in conjunction with their new album Elephant, the White Stripes are also planning an exhaustive spring/summer/fall/winter tour. Check www.v2music.com for dates and more info.

Robert Stone’s new novel, Bay of Souls, fuses literary prowess with the buzz of “supermarket” thrillers (i.e., you non-readers would probably enjoy it). It’s a tale of an outr

Snow, El-P, Haystak, Eminem, 3rd Bass, White Dawg, Bubba Sparxxx, Kid Rock, Rehab, House of Pain, Dirty White, Northen State, Remedy, White Russian, the Beasties, Fred Durst, Sage Francis, MC Paul Barman and, yes Robert Van Winkle.

In America, white rappers make for a motley crew of hazardous rednecks, label experiments, tortured cynics and talented artists. A select few come correct, while the rejects stand conflicted in their showers, desperately looking for bars that aren’t there.

There’s also a breed of white MC, namely Gold Chains, Cex and the Streets, who walk through the lobby of hip hop with super size boomboxes, their images liberated of cultural baggage, freely blasting house, IDM, punk and garage without a care for tradition. All three, the former two from the states, the latter from Britain, are bigger in Europe and more likely to find print in XLR8R than XXL. At clubs, they tend to induce as much head nodding and ass shaking as arm folding. They’re relevant and worth hearing for that reason.

Gold Chains is Topher LaFata, a computer programmer with a degree in cognitive neuroscience claiming San Francisco. Over the past two years, he’s toured the globe and unleashed a Casanova flow of glass shards across two EPs of Kid 606-like glitch. Nerder than N*E*R*D, Chains’ zero-and-one anthems like “Mountains of Coke” and “Rock the Parti” are equally at home on the ones-and-twos.

His just-released LP, Young Miss America, is scattered all over the place like SARS, sure to cause a rawkus with Japanese kittens. Adios tech-tonic rawness, hello American social diary read aloud in a carnival of Kit Clayton beat lunacy. Imagine A.R.E. Weapons with love in place of violence where the message is “it’s nice to live your life like every fucking night’s the weekend.” Rap has hitchhiked a long way from the Bronx.

This is a Life & Art interview with Gold Chains.

Q: When are you going to play a date in Miami and show up our Gucci world?
GC: Hopefully, I’ll be able to get down there on the tour for this record. I still want to play some big, cheesy house club. I’m all about palm trees, and blow and Puerto Ricans and Cubans and shit.

Q: A lot of listeners interpreted your prior work as mocking rap excess, but this album offers less irony and more social commentary. For the record, where are you coming from artistically?
GC: In terms of people comparing me to rappers, it’s a lack of understanding about where I’m coming from. Most of the hip hop kids doing the talking don’t listen to techno, or psyche records, garage, punk records. I never say anything that ain’t true. I ain’t frontin’ or trying to be something I’m not. I don’t give a fuck if some kid’s like, “I’m a real MC and he’s not.” My shit is super progressive and most dudes are stuck in some retro sound.

Q: When did you get interested in sound systems and ghetto blasters, and what are the choicest ones you’ve played and owned?
GC: Well, I think my interest in sound systems originated from rave-styles back in the early ’90s – it sounded great to hear club music being bumped outta big PAs. There are so many obscene sound systems, like at Trash at The End in London. I have a boombox that I found in a flea market – it’s the sickest one I’ve ever seen.

Q: You went to college in Connecticut. When you entered the so-called real world, did your perception of the job market change and what took you off guard?
GC: I got outta college and I washed dishes for, like, 6 months, while I taught myself how to program computers. It was like, “how the fuck am I going to make money,” and I just stepped up to the plate. If you’re going to survive in America you have to hustle and work your ass off. I knew that from the start. In my case, I programmed computers and I bought shit loads of gear.

Q: On Young Miss America, many of the lyrics concern capitalism and economic pressures on society. Do you consider these topics to be the album’s main theme?
GC: A lot of the lyrical content is more of an observation than a judgment. I’m not out to judge anyone. It’s more like, “this is how things are and do they really have to be like this?” With the title of the album, Young Miss America, it’s named after a girl I knew, Amy, YMA backwards. She came to represent a lot of themes on the record as far as American society in general, this wayward teenage girl who’s beautiful in some respects, but also an ugly amplifier of our culture, how it’s centered around success.

Q: Has your voice always been so “gravel-y,” and do you prefer recording it in the morning or on the late night?
GC: Yeah, it has. It’s better when I get to rest it for a while. I just found out that I have a node on my vocal cord, but it’s not a big deal, I’m going to get it cut out. Maybe I’ll sound like (feminine voice) Michael Jackson.

Q: You’re starting a label through Kid 606 and Cex’s label, Tigerbeat6, called Gold Club. How will it be different from that label and what are some of your upcoming releases?
GC: I don’t know how much real club music Tigerbeat puts out, you know? Gold Club will be more like straight-up club jams, some vocal house stuff, big club beat rap tracks, so we’ll see how it all turns up. I just did a remix for Dismemberment Plan, and I think that’ll be one of the first things I’ll put out. That’s going to be totally for the clubs. I’ve talked to Peaches about doing some stuff too.

Q: Based on the name, would you ever consider opening a strip club named after the Gold Club label?
GC: There’s actually a Gold Club in San Francisco. I’ve been there once or twice, but there’s too many chumps.

For more info visit www.gold-chains-worldwide.com and www.pias.com.

Hunter Stephenson can be reached at HurricaneAccent@hotmail.com.