Dig Boston Mar. 18th, 2015

DIGBOSTON.COM 3.18.15 - 3.25.15

ARTS

EATS

REJECT DANCE THEATRE

MATT JENNINGS

THREE DIRECTORS, ONE INTERCONNECTED WHOLE

OPENS TOWNSMAN in the MIDDLE OF EVERYWHERE

NEWS

BREAKING

BAPTIST 11

THE BIGGER STORY BEHIND THE CASE OF ACCUSED KILLER DEAN SHAUN HARRISON

MONTHLY FICTION

THE WEBSITE

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

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NEWS TO US FEATURE DEPT. OF COMMERCE

VOL 17 + ISSUE 11

MARCH 18, 2015 - MARCH 25, 2015

EDITOR Dan McCarthy NEWS, FEATURES + MEDIA FARM EDITOR Chris Faraone ASSOCIATE MUSIC EDITOR Martín Caballero ASSOCIATE A+E EDITOR Spencer Shannon CONTRIBUTORS Lizzie Havoc, Boston Bastard, Nina Corcoran, Emily Hopkins, Micaela Kimball, Tony McMillen, Jake Mulligan, Scott Murry, Jonathan Riley, Cady Vishniac, Dave Wedge INTERNS Paige Chaplin, Jasmine Ferrell

DESIGN CREATIVE DIRECTOR Tak Toyoshima DESIGNER Brittany Grabowski INTERNS Elise Cameron, Alek Glasrud, Michael Zaia COMICS Tim Chamberlain Brian Connolly Pat Falco Patt Kelley

ADVERTISING ACCOUNT EXECUTIVES Nate Andrews Jesse Weiss FOR ADVERTISING INFORMATION sales@digpublishing.com

BUSINESS PUBLISHER Jeff Lawrence ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER Marc Shepard OFFICE MANAGER John Loftus ADVISOR Joseph B. Darby III DigBoston, 242 East Berkeley St. 5th Floor Boston, MA 02118 Fax 617.849.5990 Phone 617.426.8942 digboston.com

ON THE COVER

Townsman’s Matt Jennings reminds us of the best way to make anything. Read all about the opening of Townsman on page 12. Photo by Michael Zaia.

DEAR READER Evidence of our crazy world.

Sad clown and one-time destroyer-of-frogs Glenn Beck has accused conservative tax reformer Grover Norquist of being a mole for the Muslim brotherhood, a charge that has been taken seriously enough by the loons manning the NRA for them to open an “investigation.” Then there’s word that two-time GOP presidential hopeful and Lord of all Olympics Mitt Romney will forgo running for a third time and instead throw down in a charity boxing match. He’s going to square off against ex-heavyweight boxing champion and earbiting victim, Evander Holyfield (yikes).

In other news, the Knights of Columbus abstained from participating in this year’s St. Patrick’s Day parade (note: Nobody really missed them) simply due to the LGBTQ community finally being allowed to march and enjoy the day like everybody else.

Finally, in this week’s issue of DigBoston, we have plenty of ground-level craziness to report, both good and bad. On the latter front, there’s the case of accused murderer Dean Shaun Harrison and his Breaking Bad-meets-Boston Public Schools situation. On the former, there’s the opening of the new Matt Jennings restaurant and after-work hangout spot, Townsman, featuring his long-cure meats and Jennings’ righteous knuckle ink (which you probably noticed on our cover). Also, new monthly fiction (anonymously submitted, turned out to be by a Dig staffer), coverage of a potential star-making theatrical production, and news of a temporary pop-up shop attracting everyone from local hip-hop musicians, to nightlife kings, to fans of cutting-edge streetwear.

In short, it’s shaping up to be a hell of a March.

Enjoy.

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

EDITORIAL

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BY DAN MCCARTHY @ACUTALPROOF

DIGTIONARY

BOSTITULAR adjective

bosˈtiCHələr 1. Holding a purely Boston-based record or title and treating it like you’ve won some kind of national competition. See: anybody freaking out over the 2014-2015 winter being the snowiest on record.

OH, CRUEL WORLD

You’re at a restaurant that everybody knows as fact is excellent. And it is good, that despite Guy Fieri having once visited. But the way you closed your eyes as you took that first bite, then looked up and at your girlfriend like it was served directly from the gods, is based wholly on some cheap fulfillment of your artificial expectations. Got that? Now mangia, your pasta’s getting cold.

ILLUSTRATION BY ELISE CAMERON

Dear Gourmand, ©2015 DIGBOSTON IS PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY DIG PUBLISHING LLC. NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION CAN BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT WRITTEN CONSENT. DIG PUBLISHING LLC CANNOT BE HELD LIABLE FOR ANY TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS. ONE COPY OF DIGBOSTON IS AVAILABLE FREE TO MASSACHUSETTS RESIDENTS AND VISITORS EACH WEEK. ANYONE REMOVING PAPERS IN BULK WILL BE PROSECUTED ON THEFT CHARGES TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

NEWS US

BREAKING BAPTIST NEWS TO US

There’s a bigger story behind the case of accused killer Dean Shaun Harrison than is being told. Here’s some of it …

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Nothing short of record-setting snowfalls can rattle New England these days. As the new cliche goes, with simultaneous trials underway for admitted Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev and for New England Patriotturned-accused-killer Aaron Hernandez, the Hub already packs sufficient insanity. But the alleged “execution-style” shooting of a 17-year-old English High School student by Shaun Harrison, one of his deans and a community reverend for whom the teen was reportedly selling weed, served to rile residents aplenty, and to chew even the nerves of those immune to being fazed.

Beyond the Walter White-inspired headlines (see: “Breaking Bad in Boston,” Boston Herald, 3.10.15), there’s an even more depraved story. One that involves child molestation and the black clergy, topics rarely found commingling in mainstream multimedia, in New England or anyplace else. You’d think journalists would seize the opportunity to pile on; since the shooting almost two weeks ago, however, there has been scant mention of the chaos preceding the attack, which continues to confuse and concern Greater Bostonians.

In the wake of the incident earlier this month, Boston Mayor Marty Walsh asked for help, demanded answers. He said in a statement, “It’s critical that, in addition to a criminal investigation, we take a thorough look at [Harrison’s] employment within our public school system to ensure that we are taking the necessary steps to protect students throughout the city.” To help serve that interest, and in hopes that the “comprehensive look” at Harrison will net more than just his BPS and criminal careers, we thought to dredge up the horrendous backstory that may have spurred his

breaking evil.

As revealed by then-Boston Herald crime reporter Michele McPhee in 2007, long before Harrison was arrested for his own offenses and his face was splashed across page one, it appears that members of his family were preyed on, namely his youngest son, P. Edward Harrison. After being hospitalized for depression in 2006, P. Edward reported that he had been molested by Rev. Lawrence Brown at Mount Calvary Baptist Church in the South End from 2004 to 2005. In interviews with McPhee, an 18-year-old Harrison explained: [Brown] would rub my back by giving me a massage and touch my private places. He would put his hands down my shorts … He had me sleep in the same bed when everyone was asleep (on a camping trip in New Hampshire) and started touching (me).

Though P. Edward said the abuse commenced when he was 14, he didn’t go public until years later. Church leaders at Mount Calvary, meanwhile, chose to discipline Brown internally, without calling police, after he confessed to co-workers, his victim’s parents, and others. The naughty reverend was dispatched to a retreat where he sought redemption in Christ, and was eventually welcomed back into the fold at Mount Calvary. This despite a public admission and a letter from 2005, reportedly sent by Brown to Harrison the elder and his wife. Furnished to the Herald in 2007, it read, in part: I know that God has forgiven me . . . I really do want you to both know how sorry I am and that I want to even be restored in your eyes. I cannot imagine what you must feel.

All things considered, it seems that, like his son, Rev. Harrison was emotionally wounded in the ordeal. When the

story first broke, he criticized the office of Suffolk County District Attorney Dan Conley for its lack of follow-up. “This is a slap in the face that Larry Brown is still out on the streets,” Harrison told McPhee. Moving forward, as Roxbury activist and Blackstonian publisher Jamarhl Crawford noted in a recent column, Harrison apparently unraveled soon thereafter. He and his wife even split, in part due to her alleged reluctance to press criminal charges against Brown, who is also her first cousin. Other members of Boston’s ministerial community who knew about what happened, including a former head of the Ten-Point Coalition, also failed to tell authorities. In their comments to the Herald, church honchos made their allegiances clear: One Mount Calvary official, the Rev. George Bullock, who is the alleged victim’s grandfather, refused to say why the church did not report the substance of Brown’s alleged confession to authorities. “I’m not interested in talking about Larry Brown and something he did two years ago. Everything was taken care of properly through the system. That’s all I am going to say,” Bullock said.

Another church official, Betty Baxter, the wife of the Rev. Parnell Baxter, was asked why the allegations were not reported - as required by law. “This boy is 18 years old,” she said. “He should have reported it himself. All the necessary steps were taken. Larry Brown went to get help, and he was reinstated recently.”

While the lord sorts out the verdict on that front, there’s hell on Earth to pay for he or she who is responsible for letting Harrison around teenagers. It’s crazy to indict the BREAKING BAPTIST continued on pg. 6

PHOTO BY CHRIS FARAONE

BY CHRIS FARAONE @FARA1

NEWS TO US FEATURE DEPT. OF COMMERCE ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

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REAL FOOD every night TILL ' CLOSE 9 2 H A MP S HIR E S T, CA M B R ID G E , M A | 6 1 7-2 5 0 - 8 4 5 4 | L O R D H O B O.C O M

BREAKING BAPTIST continued from pg. 4 whole of Boston Public Schools for the actions of one damaged individual, but the situation calls attention to the danger of administrators and teachers being made to play musical chairs in their assignments. Not unlike the way deviant collars are shuffled between parishes, ineffective and in certain cases toxic educators are moved recklessly from school to school. Between reporting by the major papers and releases by police, it has come out that Harrison was previously cited by school officials in 2012 for pushing a student at Green Academy in Brighton. And there’s more: Though he’s only been in BPS since 2010, Harrison worked at three schools before arriving at English as a dean in January. To further confuse matters, he also has an older son facing charges of shooting his girlfriend in an alleged accident two years ago.

All of which should be considered in the ongoing investigations, from the one being performed by the law to that which DigBoston and no doubt several other outlets are conducting, into whatever the heck happened this month. The case is infinitely complex, a thriller fit for Law & Order if there ever was one; for authorities examining matters though, it’s probably best to ignore everything that Harrison’s fellow ministers say about the situation. Like most members of the media, they’re conveniently ignoring the part when several preachers let his son’s molester off the hook. Take, for example, a March 6 Herald column by Peter Gelzinis. In addition to noting that Harrison was at one time employed by Charles Street A.M.E. Church under Rev. Dr. Gregory Groover, who just recently stepped down from the Boston School Committee, Gelzinis opened the floor for anonymous reverends to crucify their former colleague: Another minister traced Shaun Harrison’s downfall to his inability to take orders.

“If you’re going to do church work,” the preacher said, “you’re going to need a boss to hold you accountable, especially if you’re going to work with, and minister to, troubled kids. Shaun always seemed more intent on going his own way.

“And that can be dangerous. You can lose all perspective. And that’s what I think happened. Shaun appears to have crossed the line, between advocating and working with troubled kids … to hooking up with them.”

It takes one to know one.

BLUNT TRUTH

SCREAMING RADIO

BY MIKE CANN @MIKECANNBOSTON

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

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On the morning after two police officers were shot in Ferguson, Missouri last week, Boston Herald Radio’s Tom Shattuck and Adriana Cohen blamed the irresponsible attack on President Barack Obama, and anyone who supports the Black Lives Matter movement.

“You progressive idiots, shortsighted self-aggrandizing idiots,” said Shattuck.

Listening in during my commute into work, I decided to call them and express my disgust with the divisive tone of their webcast. In doing so, I found that Shattuck held firm in his stance but was open to some conversation. Cohen, on the other hand, took offense at being called “divisive,” and so before long we were shouting at one another.

Cohen completely missed the point that I was not calling to specifically defend Michael Brown. Rather, I phoned to note that people are protesting from coast to coast because institutional racism still exists in America; for proof, one needn't look any further than the ACLU’s findings that people of color are three times more likely to be arrested for cannabis use than are whites with comparable usage patterns.

The findings are similar in research about which perps are most often convicted and jailed for marijuana offenses. This is not in dispute. These are facts.

Cohen also didn’t seem to understand that she is part of the reason for ongoing protests. The lack of acknowledgement, by her and innumerable others, of rampant institutional racism has pushed countless people toward actions from the streets to social media. People aren’t putting themselves in harm’s way because they hate America, as conservatives like Cohen often suggest. They’re demonstrating in hope that their fellow countrymen and women will acknowledge the reality of race relations and work to improve them.

Cohen wasn’t interested. Returning after the break, she insanely stated, “I don’t want to hear it about racism. Racism doesn’t still exist in America. Whites voted twice for a black President.”

Apparently, Cohen missed the viral OSU fraternity chant, the aforementioned ACLU reports, and any number of other indicators that society remains bigoted.

I’m also guessing that she’s never heard from retired Chief Deputy US Marshal Matthew Fogg, who questioned superiors about their focus on minority and urban neighborhoods. In addressing how the government lacked the gusto to fight drug crimes in wealthy white neighborhoods with high usage rates, he recounts supervisors telling him, “You know, if we go out there and start messing with those folks, they know judges, they know lawyers, they know politicians. You start locking their kids up; somebody’s going to jerk our chain … They’re going to call us on it, and before you know it, they’re going to shut us down, and there goes your overtime.”

But racism doesn’t exist any more. If only saying that would make it so.

BY MEDIA FARM @MEDIAFARM There are many ways to follow the trial of admitted Boston Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. From the meat and potatoes mainstream to the far tangents of Twitter, there’s no shortage of coverage and opinions, with the social media realm often being much more entertaining, if eons less informative, than its rote reportage counterpart. With that in mind, consider this an homage to all the recent images and words of wisdom shared by former Boston Police Department superintendent-inchief Daniel Linskey.

Since leaving the force to start his own private consulting firm last year, Linskey has addressed dozens of law enforcement agencies worldwide, from Finland to Mexico to Australia to Egypt and Morocco. His Twitter profile serves as an advertisement for said trainings, complete with pics of Linskey gallantly commanding in moments of chaos, and a bio that includes his role as “Incident Commander for the Boston Marathon Bombing Attack.” Beyond the sales pitch though, his feed is a cornucopia of consciousness, from John Wayne quotes to various GIFs of Old Glory and cockpit selfies.

At his most engaging, Linskey writes lines that can be rather jarring. Especially if understood in the wrong context. Take, for example, a March 4 tweet accompanied by an aerial pic of the Windy City in which Linskey asked, “Is Chicago ready for a terrorist attack?” Given, the following sentence clarified: “#Linskeygroup training Illinois frontline to prevent and mitigate an attack.” Nevertheless, the former chief keeps us on the edge of our seats with that and other ominous reminders that “the enemy is among us.”

In regard to Tsarnaev and other terrorist rubbish, Linskey fashions himself as an expert on punishment as well as stopping crime. He recently extolled a pledge by King Abdullah of Jordan to extinguish evildoers, in one case tweeting out a Fox News article about the situation there with a custom kicker, “How to deal with terrorists.”

At the beginning of the Marathon bombing trial, Linskey also weighed in about how Tsarnaev should be handled: “He admitted to the bombing I’m not sure the death penalty is appropriate we should denote [sic] a bomb next [sic] him and see what the will of Allah is.” The suggestion was deleted from his account soon after, but not before his sentiments were noted by followers and captured in screengrabs.

We’re not attacking Linskey’s right to say or write these things; in fact we encourage him to continue hammering the keys, as his words convey much more about the worldview of many law enforcement higher-ups than do press releases and filtered propaganda. Furthermore, we’re well aware that he’s no longer serving the police department here, and that he has moved on to influencing officers around the world.

In fact that’s all the more reason for us to pay close attention to his Twitter feed.

FREE RADICAL

‘HUMORLESS QUEERS’ MAKES YOU LAUGH TO KEEP FROM CRYING

BY EMILY HOPKINS @GENDERPIZZA In terms of facing monolithic power structures, taking on the finance industry and the surveillance state is like standing up to two slimy Goliaths who hide sketchy things in fine print and tap your phone conversations. But neither Alexis Goldstein, communications director for the nonprofit The Other 98%, nor Kade Crockford, director of the ACLU of Massachusetts Technology for Liberty Project, seem very much intimidated by this fact.

Fierce and fearless, Goldstein and Crockford have paired up for a monthly podcast called Humorless Queers, which in its first five episodes has already addressed the Tsarnaev trial, yet another way that Citigroup earned the moniker “Shittygroup,” license plate readers, and much more. The show’s name comes from the familiar stereotype that activists are somber, and are in general a buzzkill; but employed here, the “humorless” approach works ironic wonders on multiple layers, as the podcast is both hilarious in nature and terrifying in subject matter.

Which is pretty rad.

NEWS TO US FEATURE

Why we absolutely love former BPD Chief Linskey’s tweets

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

DENOTE SPEECH

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

MEDIA FARM

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THE

WEBSITE

by Cady Vishniac

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

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YOUR FIRST MESSAGE is from some kid who only just gained the right to drink in bars this past November, and what he writes to you is I like older women. Good lord. You log off.

The next morning you wake up in your new bedroom in a small town on the New Hampshire border, a place full of peace and quiet and thin middle-aged women who jog around the reservoir by the graveyard. The cold is unbearable.

The baby lets out a bloodcurdling scream in her bassinet. She’s hungry, and you’ve been pumping exclusively since you got that infection in your left nipple, so you leave her crying in the bassinet while you waddle into the kitchen and grab the pump, a full bottle from the fridge, and a plastic cup of applesauce.

You empty the applesauce into the milk.

She strains at the thick mixture for a few minutes, emptying only part before she nods off again. You’ve been pumping the whole time; you keep pumping for a minute or two after she’s asleep again. You swaddle her in one of those tight velcro wraps the Head Start nurse gave you and then it’s back in the bassinet.

You login again, although you weren’t necessarily planning to do so, and are surprised to see that strange men have left you a total of twenty-five messages overnight. You asked them only to contact you if they lived in town, but you also wrote that you didn’t want to meet them—that you can’t actually meet them, ever. The men appear not to have read that far, because they don’t live in town and they do want to meet you, desperately, as soon as possible.

Some of them are from Newburyport, some from Boston, a couple from faraway places like Montreal and Nashville.

The boring ones (there are more than a dozen) all start with Hey or You’re beautiful.

The offensive ones include such openers as Wanna fuck? and I love your big tits, which is funny because even now, swollen with milk, your breasts are tiny. One or two of the men are scary: You seem like a real cunt. Why are you even here? I hope someone rapes you. A couple of them want to lecture you. This is

just how the world works, kid.

The twenty-third message is the only one that interests you.

I’m Dwayne, and I think I understand where you’re coming from. My son and I moved here in December from Santa Barbara. He’s only twelve but he looks like a fucking lumberjack, beard and all. Maybe it’s something in the water?

His mother passed last year. It’s fine if we just talk.

You do not read the twenty-fourth message, or the twenty-fifth. You just don’t bother. And you’re brief with Dwayne too, because you’re so exhausted: Tell me more please. You put the computer down on the floor near the bed, next to one of the diaper boxes. The baby stirs but doesn’t wake, not completely. You roll onto your stomach and lay there for a moment with the pillow over your head.

***

You think about going out for a hot chocolate but the nature of time has changed such that each week is indistinguishable and you are forever staring at an infant as she does lots of nothing. It takes another day to leave the house, and then you only go because you realize you absolutely must run errands—you’re almost out of that tea that makes you lactate and the jars of ground carrot that you like to put in your daughter’s bottles to make her sleep better.

You pump before you leave the house.

Next, you strap her to your chest and wear your maternity parka over her, so that her head (in a hat, of course) bobbles at the top between your breasts. You grab a wire pushcart from the front hall closet and pull it through the snow, walking down the middle of the street because all the sidewalks are piled high with the stuff that was plowed out of the roads. The snow should thaw soon and then you won’t have to worry, but for now you do. You imagine that someone is going to run you over and think about how you could position yourself to take all the impact, shield her with your body and make

sure she lives even if you don’t. It’s what you picture all the way to the overpriced local grocer, just north of the old mill.

On your way to the store you also wonder if you will run into Dwayne, who sent you a picture of himself and his lumberjack son. They both have round eyes, strongly ridged eyebrows, and deep California tans, and it must be true that they live in town because in the picture they’re standing in front of the old mill. Dwayne wears the sort of outfit that normal people only take to job interviews, a crisp button-down and slacks partially covered by a fitted coat. Did he snap that shot just for you, asking his son the lumberjack to pose? Does he always dress like that?

When you get to the store Casey greets you by name. Casey’s interested in everybody, but she’s taken a special interest in you. She likes to talk to you while she rings you out, while you dig through your purse for your EBT card and pack all your stuff into the pushcart.

“How’s your little darlin’ booboo?” Casey coos, poking your daughter’s head a little.

Casey’s hand is pretty much resting on your left breast, but you don’t care about personal space lately.

“She’s good,” you tell her. “She sleeps mostly. Like twenty hours a day.”

“Then how come you look like shit?”

“Because she’s never out for more than two hours at a time. The doctor says it’s reflux.”

“Put a little something in the milk to thicken it. Rice cereal. The doctor’s going to tell you she’s too young but that’s a crock.”

“I use a little applesauce, sometimes carrot.”

Casey laughs. “I thought that shit was for you! Is any of this food yours?”

“The Pop-Tarts,” you say, but Casey gives you a look that means she’s concerned about your ability to parent. A good mother would eat more vegetables or something.

“I take vitamins too,” you tell her. Casey shakes her head and says she’ll come by to see you on Saturday, so you ask her when Saturday is again.

“Six days, bitch, I’m seeing you in six days.

I’ll steal you some ice cream.” Casey gestures at the cold case with all the Ben and Jerry’s in it, then kisses your cheek and taps your shoulder, making sure not to jostle your daughter too much. You push your cart home and put all your groceries away without removing baby or coat.

Soon your laptop is open again and she’s lying in the crook of your arm, fingering your armpit and smiling at you. Whenever she’s up, whenever she’s not crying at you, she smiles. In fact, you think, her smile is cute enough to make up for how disheveled you both look all the time, so you tilt the laptop’s screen to an almost-flattering angle and take an almost-flattering picture of you and your baby, which you send back to Dwayne.

Lovely, he says right away. He’s online right now. You’re going to have a conversation. You two look like a million bucks. Casey says she’s always sleeping when you come to the store.

That throws you. You don’t respond for a minute, two minutes.

Sorry, he writes. I didn’t ask her about you or anything, but she just started talking about this woman who moved here two months ago with a newborn. You know how she is.

I know how she is, you write. It’s fine. Why did you come to Massachusetts?

So nobody would ever ask me how I’m doing. Aside from Casey,

they don’t.

She’s actually from Florida, you write, which is your way of excusing Casey’s aberrant sociability. She didn’t tell you?

She didn’t, but that would explain a few things.

***

You worry about yourself, for all sorts of reasons. You worry that you’re a deflated bag, that it feels like you have crumpled newspapers under the skin of your stomach, that your hair is falling out and even if you were stupid enough to ever touch a man again no man could possibly want you anymore. You worry that you’re a horrible, crazy old lady just like your mother.

You remember—but in a distant way, as if it all happened to someone else—being beautiful, with a sharp jawline and bright teeth. You remember clear skin, thighs that never rubbed together, and a guy in Chelsea hostel who told you your bottom lip was chewy in the best way. You remember South Beach, Montego Bay, and especially Key West.

You used to wear short skirts. You used to work out and eat right, even though back then you didn’t have to. You used to be on the move and untouchable and immune, and when you danced it was sexy; people were watching you and you looked good. Now you’re someone’s mommy and you live in sweatpants.

Is it vain of you to fixate, of all things, on the fact that your belly sags and your good looks are gone forever? Wasn’t motherhood supposed to make you spiritual and whole, a Madonna? Are the other mothers this horrified by what’s happened to their bodies, to their previously interesting lives, or are you just a bad person?

***

Two weeks in, you and Dwayne decide you like talking to each other so much that you set a regular time each day, like a standing date. His afternoons are unpredictable because the landscaping business he works for also operates a plow, which he uses to clear the snowdrifts out of driveways anywhere between Haverhill and Portsmouth, and because he has to pick up the lumberjack son from school. Nights are best for him, he says. Nights work for you too, so nights it is. Each of you proposes eight o’clock and hits ENTER at the same time, then you both remark on that coincidence and hit ENTER at the same time again. The computer screen looks like this: Eight is best for me.

Let’s say eight!

Jinx, you owe me a soda.

Oh that’s funny, we wrote that at the same time.

We did it again.

One night you tell him that your daughter is getting even fussier and that you only get to sleep for an hour at a time.

You tell him that sometimes you pick her up and both of you just wail for hours, walking back and forth in the kitchen, and you tell him that she’s smiling less. Everything you tell him is true. Casey, this woman who barely knows you, comes over to help every other day out of some misguided Floridian generosity, and when she’s in your house you don’t even talk to her because you’re too busy pumping and trying to catch a little shut-eye.

THE WEBSITE continued on pg. 10

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ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

FEATURE

NEWS TO US

THE WEBSITE continued from pg. 8

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***

It’s five days after you decide to cut Dwayne off that you finally see the gastroenterologist. Casey drives you over there in a light blue beater with a Florida license plate, and your daughter whimpers for the whole half-hour you’re in the car. Her noises make your milk come in and your chest ache, and you’re glad you pumped before you left the house.

“I’m sorry, thank you, I’m sorry,” you say when Casey pulls into a parking spot at the hospital.

She waves her hand in your face and tells you not to worry about it. “What am I gonna do, let that little booboo die? Let you go crazy?”

“I’m serious. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me shit.” It’s moments like these when you’re most struck by her leathery skin and gravelly smoker’s voice. She sticks her chin out, puffs up her shoulders, and mugs at you in the frozen parking lot. She’s sincerely offended. “We’re friends, okay?”

“Okay, Casey. We’re friends.”

You two hug and make your way toward the building. Inside, your pediatric

gastroenterologist is all business, poking and prodding at your shrieking girl and eventually telling you to give her a little Pepto sometimes. Why didn’t you think to find her some Pepto on your own? Shouldn’t you have tried that already? You’re a failure as a parent.

You must be a failure as a parent.

***

But the Pepto helps. God it makes such a difference. Casey lets you take it right out of the store even though it’s almost the twenty-second of the month, meaning you’ve just about run out the money on your EBT card and can’t afford to purchase the stuff.

You give your baby a teeny tiny dosage just like the gastroenterologist said and it’s so beautiful—she sleeps for five hours and once you’ve pumped, you’re also down for the count. She wakes up shitting herself copiously with a black tarry stool and you wipe her with a grin. You feel phenomenal, like a real person who’s had some real sleep, so you pump again and then you decide that you and the baby are going to take a bath.

You lie there with your gorgeous smiling girl until the water’s gone tepid. She reaches out to feel your face, strokes your cheek, sticks an experimental finger up your nose, drools on you. Then you hear someone open your apartment door and walk in. You’re worried at first, until you remember that you’ve given Casey your key and she said she’d come by when the store closed. She’s in your kitchen now.

“What are you doing?” you yell out.

“Making you corn fritters so you stop eating that boxed shit. How’s booboo?”

“She’s really good, but she took a monster dump. I’m cleaning her now. Hold on.”

“Take your time, Mama,” she says, so you do. You kiss the baby several dozen times on her flushed cheeks, then you take her out of the bath, put a diaper on her, and wrap her tight in the velcro swaddle blanket. You sit on your bed and rock her in your lap until she’s asleep again, then you put her in the bassinet.

When you come out of your bedroom the smell of fried food overwhelms you. How is this supposed to be better than Pop-Tarts?

But you don’t want to appear ungrateful, so you let Casey feed you her disgusting fritters, and a greasy side salad she appears to be especially proud of.

“It’s just a little vinaigrette dressing,” she tells you. “Don’t make that face! The veggies are good for you, anyway. I bet you haven’t had a fucking carrot since you came to town.”

She might be right; you can’t remember.

When you’re three or four forkfuls in, she looks out the kitchen window and says, “So I talked to Dwayne.”

“I really don’t want to hear it, Casey.”

“Yeah, well, too bad.”

“Come on, I thought we were friends.”

“As your friend, I think you’re a wreck and you need to get laid.”

“That’s not fair,” you say. You’re raising your voice now. “We’re doing fine.”

“The fuck you are,” she shoots back. “I’m the only person you talk to and I practically have to force myself on you. Just fucking have lunch with the guy.”

You tell her you’ll think about it through clenched teeth, and then the baby starts crying. You think to yourself that it’s strange for her to wake up again so soon, and you go tearing into the bedroom to check up on her.

When you see your daughter throwing up something that looks like coffee grounds, you

think you might faint. “Oh shit,” you say.

“Oh shit,” Casey agrees. “Change her. I’m calling him.”

“Wait, why?”

“Because I am.”

“Fuck you,” you tell her. Then you get to wipng the bloody vomit off your infant, whose eyes, oh god, are rolling back into her head. You remember to pump again before Dwayne shows up.

***

He’s wearing the same button-down from that one photo by the mill. “Hi,” he says. He’s taller than he looked in the pictures, and he has to hunch over a little to meet your eye.

“Casey called me.”

“How does she even have your number?”

Dwayne throws up his hands like he expects you to take a swing at him, and he stares at the ground hard. “I thought maybe she’d pass it along to you.”

So he’s been planning to find you for a while now, despite anything he may have agreed to when you two were talking on that stupid website. You really would slug him, except you’ve got the baby on your arm.

“How is she?” Dwayne asks.

Casey pipes up from behind you. “It’s like she’s puking up scabs,” Casey says. “Poor kid’s too fucked up to even cry about it.”

Dwayne nods. “Let’s go.” The three of you pile into his truck, the baby on your lap.

You race down the back roads, the ones that Dwayne’s gotten to know from driving around plowing everybody’s cars out, and all the shortcuts he takes mean you make it to the hospital in Newburyport in just twenty minutes. He jumps out and opens the door for you and you make a mad dash for the emergency room entrance with your daughter in your arms hacking up black bile, the other two adults trailing you silently.

You are getting her in that door as fast as you humanly can. You are being a good mother. You are yelling and crying and holding a baby and the doctors move fast. The nurses and the EMTs move fast. Everybody’s staring at you and it’s great, it’s really great to finally know you’re being heard.

You get rushed back to the pediatric unit, the critical one, and people in scrubs talk to you about reactions, extremely rare reactions, to certain antacids. Your baby girl has to stay on a tiny baby bed with doctors huddled around her but you get to be in the room.

She’s unconscious, not sleeping but well and truly unreachable. You tell a nurse your chest hurts and she brings you one of the pumps they keep in the hospital just in case.

It’s like this all night, doctors rushing in and out and your baby where you can look at her, but you can’t touch. You sit in the corner on a chair with no cushions and you pump milk in the corner with your shirt up, even though the room is full of people. A nurse swoops in to take the milk from you and put it in a fridge near the nurses’ station. You fall asleep on the chair, then you wake up, then you fall asleep again.

You wake up a second time when Casey pats you on the back and says, “I have to go open the store.” It must be morning then.

You’re grabbing her sleeve and begging her to stay.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she tells you.

“Doctors say she’s out of the woods.”

Your friend squeezes your arm. “Hey, Dwayne had to go

take his kid to the middle school. He’ll be back. Don’t be a bitch.” She worms out of your tired grasp, kisses your cheek, and is gone.

You get up and lean over the bed. The light of your life lies there with a miniature IV stuck in her arm. She must have thrown up some more overnight—there’s dark brown crust all over her mouth—but right now she looks okay. Her breath is shallow, but it’s there, the rise and fall of a small chest.

You watch her breathe for ten minutes, until Dwayne knocks on the door. He’s holding a Dunkie’s bag and two to-go cups of coffee. One of them, he points out, is decaf, because he knows you don’t want to pass caffeine on to the baby in your milk.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” you ask.

“For violating your terms.”

You find yourself responding in a way you couldn’t have predicted even five hours ago.

“It was weird anyway though, wasn’t it? Why would I want to just write with somebody?”

“Because that’s all you were ready to do,” he says, and he continues, “That’s okay.” He gives you some song and dance about how you can go back to the way it was, if you want, and he won’t ever bother you about a real-life meeting ever again.

You laugh and kiss him right on the lips— right there in the hospital room, right there in front of your passed-out daughter—just to shut him up. “Give me your number before you go,” you say. “Let me call you sometime when I’m free.”

He straightens his back a little and says, “I’d like that a lot.” Next, he pulls in a chair from the hallway and opens up the bag, which, it turns out, is full of jellied donut holes, and the two of you wait for a doctor, or a nurse, or even a nurse’s aid to show up and tell you everything’s fine.

You hunch over your coffees in the anticipating silence of the early-morning pediatric ER, and for the very first time, you eat breakfast together.

Cady Vishniac wishes that snow were valid currency in the United States. Her work is forthcoming in CutBank and Rust + Moth.

ILLUSTRATION BY BRITTANY GRABOWSKI

You make an appointment with a pediatrician who shrugs at you and says that some kids cry a lot, then another appointment with a pediatric gastroenterologist at the hospital in Newburyport, whom you have to wait a whole week just to meet. You’re losing your mind. You ache everywhere and if you weren’t responsible for a sick infant you’d consider suicide; a part of you is considering it anyway.

Your milk comes out in a slow trickle. You go ahead and tell Dwayne all these things, because you know he’ll be patient with you.

He writes, Someday you’ll be okay, even if you don’t believe it now. That’s corny, but it’s what you needed to hear from him. Your conversations are rushed. You’re messaging him when you have no time, when you should be sleeping, sometimes even while you’re filling milk bottles.

Dwayne tells you things about himself, like that his wife died of stomach cancer and his son won some sort of statewide chess championship against a bunch of highschoolers, and best of all, he doesn’t push you.

For example, you can talk about your baby and he never asks you to explain how you ended up raising her alone. He tells you about how much warmer it is in California and how he slipped on ice on the way to his plow truck.

Are you sure you live here? he asks. I never see you out. I keep hoping I’ll run into you when we buy food or something.

What he doesn’t know is you’ve been making sure that doesn’t happen. You only go to Casey’s grocery on weekday afternoons at three-thirty, when you’re sure he’ll be busy driving his kid home from middle school.

I live here, you tell him. I just don’t leave the house much.

Would you, he asks, meet me somewhere if I asked you? Or forget it, I know you’re tired.

I could come over with Casey. Does she ever walk to your place after work? My son and I could meet her at the store and just come over for a visit.

You don’t respond.

You still there?

You log off. This wasn’t what you agreed to and, you tell yourself, it’s not that important to have someone to talk to after all. You won’t message him again. In fact, you delete your profile from the website.

11

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

FEATURE

NEWS TO US

DEPT. COMMERCE SHOP

SHARP OBJECT

Frank the Butcher opens pop-up shop on Newbury Street

BY MALCOLM J. GRAY @MALCOLMJGRAY If Boston’s culture is defined by its people, Frank the Butcher has a knack for bringing the right crowd together.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon last weekend, the Worcester-born footwear designer, record producer, and former KarmaLoop creative director hosted a smattering of hip-hop fans, nightclub owners, promoters, rappers, and producers at the Jiberish boutique on Newbury Street. It was for the premiere of his new month-long pop-up store in collaboration with PUMA and his own Always BAU (Business As Usual) clothing line, offering exclusive apparel, accessories, footwear, and music. This was more than another retail gimmick: with the legendary DJ Clark Kent spinning the classic hip-hop soundtrack, this felt like another step in Boston’s cultural awakening, a process in which Frank hopes to be a driving force.

What makes this pop-up shop so important to you?

It combines the all the elements of my childhood.

My interests range from clothing to music to art. I just wanted to find a way to bring all the physical manifestations of my creative world to one place and put it on display for the city.

EATS

DOWN TOWN

Matt Jennings’ Townsman opens in the middle of everywhere

BY DAN MCCARTHY @ACUTALPROOF

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

12

For months, area foodies tracked and kept up on the news tidbits Matt Jennings would release in advance of the muchanticipated opening of Townsman, his “New England-style brasserie” on the ground floor of the new Radius building on the borderland between the Financial District and Chinatown.

And if the crowd on a Wednesday night last week was any indication, the wait was well worth it. Jennings and his team are already pumping out the kind of expressive farm-to-table food that anyone who’s gotten down to Farmstead, their former Providence, RI, spot has come to expect. And for Jennings, it all comes down to the experiences he can create for diners.

“I was killing myself on the plate,” he says when discussing his early years of name establishing. “But at this point I hope I’ve developed enough of an identity through the food we create so that now it’s about making sure people are having a good experience with delicious food, using great ingredients and combining them in interesting way. That’s what I’m put on the planet for now. This project brings all that to the table.”

As a project, Jennings says that Townsman is the most expressive of his cumulative culinary history, and he wants the venture to be an expression of everything that’s happened to him and the way he has looked at food since starting in the industry. If that means that sourcing lamb from people he knows who also happen to raise great livestock (note: Townsman will be doing whole-animal dinners down the line), then so much the better. Notably, the charcuterie offerings (bresaola, coppa, salami) come from friend and celebrated meat maestro Josh Smith’s house-made long-cure meats out of his USDA certified kitchen in Waltham. And if it means being influenced by and incorporating fresh ingredients from his new neighbors in Chinatown, or even putting a classic Portuguese fisherman’s stew on menu, then that’s all in play here too (as are different vibes between the bar and dining room, as well as the 20-seat crudo bar where you can watch the chef action from the front row). But the challenge, he says, was to land a spot that could bring all those concepts together and work.

And in the kitchen, that means as many mistakes as successes.

“We’re first to admit that the kitchen is as much a place of failure as success,” he says with a laugh. “That’s an important part of what we do. We take those failures and re-engineer them and make them better every day. We work hard to find an intersection of all these parts that end up on the plate that’s reflective of our different experiences as a team.”

And speaking of intersections, Jennings said his selection of location for Townsman came at the expense of others who passed before him. “I know a lot of people who looked at this area and passed it over, as it’s on the fray,” he says. “But for me there’s nothing more exciting. It’s at the apex of six amazing neighborhoods, and there’s so much happening here. It’s the middle of everywhere, as opposed to middle of nowhere.” >> TOWNSMAN. NOW OPEN. 120 KINGSTON ST., BOSTON. 617-993-0750. TOWNSMANBOSTON.COM

How do you feel it fits into the resurgent creative economy in Boston?

With all the recent developments in Boston, this felt like the perfect time to provide a new outlet for streetwear in the city. Puma and Jiberish are also brands that care about pushing culture forward.

Teaming up with them was a no-brainer. I just wanted to offer something unique in the city. That’s why I have artists like Prodigy (April 3) and Bun B (April 4) coming up to do limited-edition music releases in the store.

They have some of the most iconic records of all time.

I just want to show people how much those records and hip-hop overall inspired me.

What’s one thing you’re really looking forward to during this pop-up?

Connecting with the people is a huge thing for me.

Meeting everyone that comes to the events and getting their feedback and support is invaluable to me. I’m planning to have some high school students come through to the shop to talk with them. It’s about being able to help other people see their vision and showing them that it’s attainable.

>> BAU EWYK POP-UP SHOP. OPEN NOW THROUGH SAT 4.11.

JIBERISH, 299 NEWBURY ST., BOSTON. MON – SAT 11AM – 7PM. SUN 11AM – 6PM. ALWAYSBAU.COM

TOWNSMAN PHOTOS BY MICHAEL ZAIA | BAU EWYK POP-UP SHOP PHOTO BY MALCOLM J. GRAY

WORKS OF ART ARE FAR MORE ENJOYABLE WHEN YOU CAN DEVOUR THEM AS WELL

BY KAREN CINPINSKI @CATSINPJS

WEDNESDAYS MARCH 4TH- 25TH 5-11pm SMALL PLATES JAMAICAN PEPPER SHRIMP: Spicy shrimp crusty bread

NEWS TO US FEATURE

Big updates from Down The Road Brewery

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

ROAD AHEAD

CARIBBEAN DREAMING

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

HONEST PINT SPONSORED BY SUNSET GRILL & TAP

13

BAHAMIAN CONCH FRITTERS: Spiced citrus aioli dipping sauce

EMPANADA:

Pastry stuffed with seasoned pork / mango habanero dipping sauce

PHOTOS COURTESY DOWN THE ROAD BREWERY

FRESH SEAFOOD CEVICHE:

After spending the last two years trying to get his project off the ground, Donovan Bailey is making headway with Down the Road Brewery, releasing his first commercial batch of beers this spring, and opening a local brewery and taproom.

Bailey taught himself to brew when he was just 18 years old. Soon after, creating beer from scratch became an “obsession” for the Newton resident. “Doing a ton of experimentation was key in learning to make great beer,” he says. After decades of home brewing, Bailey is ready to finally distribute his wares to the masses.

As head brewer, Bailey plans to produce batches in phases, beginning with flagship Pukwudgie Pale Ale, a sessionable American pale named after the troll-like creature of Wampanoag folklore. Phase two: a traditional German Kölsch, expected to launch in May. “Down the Road’s brews are going to stand out as classic and timeless,” says Bailey, “I’ll be innovative with my own style, but will keep a more traditional approach in making beer,” which is something Bailey believes isn’t done by many American breweries. “The current craft beer market has a lot of beer that stands out for [its] use of unusual ingredients. Down The Road’s beer will stand out [for] just being great beer.”

Earlier this month, Bailey brewed his first commercial batch of Pukwudgie at Mercury Brewing in Ipswich. Because he doesn’t have a dedicated brewery, Bailey will be “borrowing” space from other breweries to mass-produce his suds in the short term.

Pukwudgie will hit the market by early April.

The brew will be on draft at area pubs, including 51 Lincoln, Hopsters, and O’Hara’s, with six-packs available at Newton shops like Craft Beer Cellar and Marty’s. Expect more venues to come.

Within the next 10 to 12 months, Bailey plans to begin working out of his own operational brewery, large enough to continue churning out product for mass distribution while also housing a taproom with a neighborhood vibe. “The brewery-taproom is going to be a place for the community to come together to have a few samples and talk to [their] neighbor about the topics of the day,” says Bailey. There will also be brewery tours and regular events.

He is zeroing in on Brighton, an area where he spent a lot of his young adult life and one he thinks could use a spot like Down the Road to bring the neighborhood together. “There are plenty of bars and nail salons. Now [Brighton] needs a real community space,” says Bailey, who really considered the locale when conceptualizing Down the Road.

“When I was thinking about the name I wanted something that spoke to a neighborhood place,” says Bailey. “I imagined someone being asked where their favorite brewery was and responding ‘Just down the road.’”

Marinated in citrus / onion / red pepper / Fresh cilantro

BBQ JERK CHICKEN:

Wood smoked split chicken with traditional jerk seasonings

SPICY GOAT STEW:

Vegetable coconut curry broth

CARIBBEAN TILAPIA:

Wrapped in banana leaf / roasted mango butter

SIDES

Rice & beans / Mac & cheese / Grilled avocado / Rum glazed plantains

“Down the Road’s brews are going to stand out as classic and timeless. I’ll be innovative with my own style, but will keep a more traditional approach in making beer.”

PAIN KILLER COCKTAIL:

Pusser’s Rum / fresh squeezed OJ /cream of coconut / pineapple juice / nutmeg

@MAGOUNSSALOON OLDEMAGOUNSSALOON

130 Brighton Avenue Allston, MA

518 Medford St Somerville

magounssaloon.com|617 - 7 76 - 2 6 0 0

ARTS ENTERTAINMENT

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

14

THURS 3.19

FRI 3.20

FRI 3.20

SAT 3.21

SUN 3.22

SUN 3.22

Irish Film Festival

My (Musical) OkCupid Date

Herb Ritts at the MFA

Bach in the Subways

Whiskey Rebellion Boston

Silent(ish) Reading Party

celtic pride

ok go

puttin on the ritts

bach in time

down with the brown stuff

turn the page

While chugging green beer is all well and good, so is putting your money where your mouth is and showing some real solidarity with the Irish. Come out and support artists from across the pond as the Boston Irish Film Festival kicks off its 15th year in Davis Square, showcasing 30 films and hosting about a dozen after-parties. Game of Thrones fans take note: Maisie Williams stars in the best feature, Gold.

By now, most of us have suffered through the unique and sometimes surreal torture of online dating. Jacob Russell-Snyder, entrepreneurial improviser/ musician/comedian that he is, had the genius foresight (or maybe insanity) to turn his own OkCupid-facilitated helldate into a musical.

Either way, his “outrageous, shocking” story is billed as 100 percent true, which, considering our latest online dating experiences, is actually pretty believable.

And now something for our more highbrow readers. The iconic American fashion photographer Herb Ritts— famous for his striking and sensual black and white images of supermodels— will debut a new collection at the MFA, his first at the museum since his 1996 collection, Herb Ritts: WORK, which remains one of the most popular exhibits in museum history. Get a taste of the high life and enjoy the work of a master of ’80s and ’90s aesthetic.

They’re certainly no Keytar Bear, but these Berklee College of Music students are certainly capable of playing music more pleasing to the ears than some of what we’ve heard on the Park Street platform.

They’ll be putting on a free performance in celebration of Johann Sebastian Bach’s 330th birthday, one of many annual “Bach in the Subways” performances that take place all over the world on this day.

Sundays. Great for doing nothing. Or heading to a showcase of Americanmade whiskeys, gathered together in brotherhood under one roof in an event that would make Ron Swanson proud. This expansive event includes an “ABCs of American Whiskey” class, cocktail demonstrations, snacks, distillation demonstrations, and of course, the freedom to taste a variety of delicious brown liquors.

Ever wish you could enjoy that feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that comes from going out and being social without any of the work, of, like, having to talk to people? Well, now you can (if you like reading). In their first-ever reading party, JP Reads and Social Artists & Writers invites you to bring a book and enjoy tea and snacks on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Peace, quiet, and camaraderie doesn’t come easy these days, so come on out and celebrate … quietly.

Somerville Theatre. 55 Davis Sq., Somerville. For schedule and tickets, visit irishfilmfestival.com

Catalyst Comedy (in residence at the Boston Button Factory).

50 Melcher St., Boston.

10pm/all ages/$10. catalystcomedy.com

Museum of Fine Arts. 465 Huntington Ave., Boston.

For schedule and tickets, visit mfa.org

South Station. 700 Atlantic Ave., Boston. 2pm/all ages/ FREE. south-station.net

MOKSA. 450 Mass Ave., Cambridge.

2:30pm/21+/$42-67 per day.

For schedule and tickets, visit wheretoeat.in

Loring-Greenough House.

12 South St., Jamaica Plain.

2pm/all ages/FREE. jpreads.org

PHOTO COURTESY THE AMERICAN REPERTORY THEATER

CATCH CHICAGO-BASED THE HYPOCRITES PRODUCTION OF THE MIKADO (PICTURED) BETWEEN MARCH 31-APRIL AT OBERON. IT’S AN ABSURDIST COMEDIC TAKE OF AN 1885 OPERETTA THAT FUSES FOLK/POP MUSIC WITH MONTY PYTHON SILLINESS. AMERICANREPERTORYTHEATER.ORG

15

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

FEATURE

NEWS TO US

MUSIC

MUSIC

DREAM ON

PEACE WAR

BY MARTÍN CABALLERO @_EL_CABALLERO

BY NINA CORCORAN @NINA_CORCORAN

Scotland’s wistful pop group is challenging you to a dance

The Return of The Prefab Messiahs

OK, BUT I SUPPOSE IT DEPENDS ON WHAT “IT” IS The Prefab Messiahs want you to keep your stupid dreams alive. After all, they’ve been doing that for over 30 years.

Let’s make this clear—this isn’t a fortune cookie platitude, a “Keep your rock star dreams alive” or “Keep dreaming because everything will work out if you try hard enough” delusion held fast by a band on the verge of hitting it big. It’s meant quite literally; your dreams are stupid, and you should fight like hell for them.

“There’s a kind of a winking cynicism, or a sense of ‘Don’t be fooled,’” says bassist/vocalist Kris “Trip” Thompson of the album’s ethos, on the phone from his home in Watertown.

“Then again, the weird thing is, I think all of us in our lives now are thinking, ‘What better thing could we be doing?’

What would we rather do than pursue this and see what happens with it as a creative enterprise, as an outlet for something we like doing that we think is important?”

Few bands have been so efficient in making a lasting impression; the Prefab Messiahs, founded by Feinberg, Thompson, “Doc” Michaud and Ned “Egg” as students at Clark University in Worcester, were active for only three years, and, until Devolver resurrected a smattering of their sparingly recorded material in 1998, never had an official release. Yet in that time, facing up to Ronald Regan’s new America and their own coming of age, they crafted a low-budget, high-energy psych-punk style that earned them reverence within the contemporaneous New England scene.

Decades after disbanding in 1983, they came back together

for a quick run of shows in 2013, just as Burger Records was reissuing Devolver. With this momentum behind them, the band, now three, decided to get back together—Feinberg came in from upstate New York, Michaud from Memphis—to record a new album at the Lillypad in Inman Square. Getting back to their old stomping grounds was the first part, and finding the fuel that drives the album also required a step back into the past.

“The writing came naturally,” says Feinberg. “Somehow it was easy to remember how I felt and what I was trying to do [in 1981], and we purposely went exactly with that feeling. We didn’t want to just make stuff that didn’t have any relevance to what the band used to be. Maybe that’s another band, but there’s no point in pretending that that’s the Prefab Messiahs.”

It helps that the album is constructed as a loose story, comprised of their own and others’ experiences, tracing the journey from idealistic youth (“Ssydarthurr” a play on Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha) to college (“College Radio”) to the confusion and compromises of adulthood, with time for a ride in “Bobb’s Psychedelic Car” (a nod to Worcester cult hero Bobb Trimble) along the way. “We talked about what’s next for us,” says Thompson, “but this makes sense as sort of switching the thing back on.”

More than its content, the album’s very existence confirms that dreams—stupid or not—are worth fighting for.

“The process of getting back together, that’s the story,” says Feinberg. “That’s one of the things that the songs are about, that kind of experience of a band that never was, that still is.”

>> PREFAB MESSIAHS “KEEP YOUR STUPID DREAMS ALIVE” RELEASE PARTY W/ THE FAGETTES, FEDAYEES, SECRET LOVER. THURS 3.19 MIDDLE EAST UPSTAIRS, 472 MASS AVE., CAMBRIDGE. 617.854.3278. 8:30PM/$10/18+. THEPREFABMESSIAHS.BANDCAMP.COM

MUSIC EVENTS

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

16

THU 3.19

EXPERIMENTAL PUNK ROCK STREIGHT ANGULAR + LITTLE WAR TWINS + HUDSON K + GREG MCKILLOP

[T.T. The Bears, 10 Brookline St., Cambridge. 9pm/18+/$8. ttthebears.com]

PUNKY FOLK ANDREW JACKSON JIHAD + THE SMITH STREET BAND + JEFF ROSENSTOCK + CHUMPED

[Royale, 279 Tremont St., Boston. 5pm/18+/$16. boweryboston.com]

SAT 3.21

MON 3.23

[House of Blues, 15 Lansdowne St., Boston, 6pm/all ages/$25-35. houseofblues.com]

[T.T. The Bear’s, 10 Brookline St., Cambridge.

9pm/18+/$15. ttthebears. com]

LIVELY POP COLD WAR KIDS + ELLIOT MOSS

BEAUTIFUL AMBIENCE A WINGED VICTORY FOR THE SULLEN + LOSCIL

World politics are never a good impetus for conversation. But considering Scottish twee group Belle and Sebastian has named its new album Girls In Peacetime Want to Dance, it only makes sense to start there.

“The world is made up of individuals and a conscious peace should come from within. It’s up to each individual to make a contribution,” says guitarist Stevie Jackson over the phone.

“It’s not like I wouldn’t be at a demonstration or throwing a brick or something, but sometimes that can be negative. It can make things worse.

A calm, general friendliness in everyday life is the best thing to do.” When put that simply, his advice makes me question why he isn’t running the country.

On the new album, Belle and Sebastian have gone electronic. “We wanted to surprise ourselves,” says Jackson. “We left our comfort zone, but the songs and their pallet, even in an extreme territory, still feel like us.” In terms of the dance elements and the rhythms, that’s nothing new. “Funny Little Frog” is still meant for dancing and “Electronic Renaissance” is definitely electro-pop. The synth overindulgence this time, however, is definitely a new path.

Much of their music outlines sensitive admissions, and the album’s opening number “Nobody’s Empire” cuts right to the chase. It gets personal. Yet when they face huge crowds every night, that openness is celebrated. It’s a room of tea-loving fans bearing their emotions and dancing through the evening. “You turn up at the airport and someone has made a big Belle and Sebastian banner. It’s very heartwarming,” says Jackson of their fans. “I was even given a quilt once.”

“Me and Stuart [Murdoch] were singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ the other day,” he laughs. “The first time I went to America I was so excited. Funnily enough, I’ve never really lost that. We love it.” He starts laughing to himself before lowering his tone and saying, “God bless America.” I swear, if only for a moment, I hear him salute in the background. There is no divide. There’s only dancing, and it’s sure as hell time we celebrate peace.

>> BELLE AND SEBASTIAN. MON 3.30 HOUSE OF BLUES, 15 LANSDOWNE ST., BOSTON. 888-693-2583.

7PM/ALL AGES/$40. HOUSEOFBLUES.COM/BOSTON

STRAIGHT UP FOLK THE WESTERN DEN + KEVIN WILLIAM + BILLINGTON SEA

[Great Scott, 1222 Comm Ave., Allston. 9pm/18+/ $10. greatscottboston.com]

TUE 3.24

STRANGE ALT MIXED BAG PEOPLE LIKE YOU + CHERRY MELLOW + STOP TITO COLLECTIVE

[Middle East Upstairs, 472 Mass Ave., Cambridge.

8pm/18+/$10. mideastclub.com]

NEWS TO US

mideastclub.com | zuzubar.com (617) 864-EAST | ticketweb.com

-DOWNSTAIRSTHURS 3/19

17

THE BEST ENTERTAINMENT IN CAMBRIDGE 7 DAYS A WEEK!

QQ

TUESDAYS

SUNDAYS

FRI 3/20 -LEEDZ PRESENTS:

THIRSTY TUESDAYS

DOUBLE TAP

SMIF N WESSUN ‘DAH SHININ’ 20 YEAR ANNIVERSARY

SAT 3/21 - LEEDZ PRESENTS:

TRAPPED IN THE 90S

DJ DOO WOP & DJ G-SQUARED SUN 3/22

TRUE CREW PRESENTS THE WORLD OF DRUM & BASS MON 3/23

ROSANA EN CONCIERTO! TUES 3/24- BOWERY PRESENTS:

PENNYWISE A WILHELM SCREAM

TEENAGE BOTTLEROCKET, REBUILDER - UPSTAIRS THURS 3/19

THE PREFAB MESSIAHS THE FAGETTES, FEDAVEES SUN 3/22 THE STEW BEAT SHOWCASE MON 3/23

MIKEY WAX

ALEXIS KEEGAN, RYAN ADDEREY, ASHLEY JORDAN

TUES 3/24

PEOPLE LIKE YOU CHERRY MELLOW, STOP TITO COLLECTIVE

/mideastclub /zuzubar @mideastclub @zuzubar

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

FEATURE

CENTRAL SQ. CAMBRIDGE, MA

512 Mass. Ave. Central Sq. Cambridge, MA 617-576-6260 phoenixlandingbar.com

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

Boston’s Best Irish Pub

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19+, 10PM - 2AM

19+, 10PM - 1AM

FRIDAYS

SATURDAYS

PRETTY YOUNG THING

BOOM BOOM ROOM

21+, 10PM - 2AM

21+, 10PM - 2AM

80’s Old School & Top 40 Dance hits

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FILM

THE FOLLOWING

It Follows evokes classic slasher film traditions while simultaneously messing with them

BY JAKE MULLIGAN @_JAKEMULLIGAN

In It Follows, a teenage girl named Jay has sex, and it ruins her life. Jay’s partner tricked her into the tryst so he could pass her an evil spirit, one warded off by having sex, and the demon has a collection of infected victims to cycle through, and return to Jay sooner than later. Everyone’s carnal desires are biting back with a vengeance.

So much for the virginal “final girl” of slasher movies past. Jay is the final girl’s worst nightmare—she can only survive by sleeping around. Director David Robert Mitchell knows that he’s evoking slasher films of yore, replicating the wide-lens photography of John Carpenter, and a layered synth score over it all. We got him to talk about how he worked with the traditions of his chosen genre—and about how he messed with them.

The standout imagery in your film is sexual: Weathered Playboys, red heels, pink underwear.

David Robert Mitchell: On some level,that is a direct reference to horror films of the past. It’s about the types of [sexualized] images we’ve seen, and about wanting to alter them or reinterpret them.

I’d like to talk about that, but you’re probably averse to commenting on specific readings of your film ...

True! I think the charm is letting the audience interpret the film any way they want. Sometimes I agree, or disagree, or love, or hate those interpretations ...

What kind of interpretation do you hate?

I’ve had people imagine that the film is a puritanical statement. Which is irritating to me.

I wouldn’t have used the word “puritanical,” but the film did feel afraid of female sexuality. It reminded me of Jacques Tourneur or David Lynch ... like you were exploring unconscious male anxiety about women having sex.

I can see that. I think it’s about sexuality in general, more than “fear of female

sexuality.” But if people see it that way, I wouldn’t want to dismiss that.

Well instead of the innocent “final girl,” your actress has to constantly have sex.

And the film takes on a melancholic tone as she grows more disheveled ...

Aren’t you subverting tradition?

Sure, yeah. But I also think that some of the analytical opinions about horror films that we’ve collectively agreed upon—like the stuff that’s in Scream, which is a re-interpretation of academic analysis—is wrongly assumed to be fact.

So what’s your reading—do you disagree with that take?

I think even John Carpenter has come out and said that it was not his intention in Halloween to craft a scenario where the virgin survives because she’s avoiding sex. But we’ve accepted that one particular academic interpretation. I’m not saying that’s wrong—I’m just saying it’s only one interpretation.

An interpretation that you’re now screwing around with.

Well … I mean … maybe. [Laughs, coyly.]

To some degree.

FILM EVENTS WED 3.18

DON’T BRING YOUR PARTNER WE WON’T GROW OLD TOGETHER

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

18

[Harvard Film Archive.

24 Quincy St., Harvard Sq., Cambridge. 7:30pm/ NR/$7-9.]

THURSDAY 3.19

2014 PALME D’OR WINNER WINTER SLEEP

[Museum of Fine Arts.

465 Huntington Ave., Boston. 6:30pm/NR/$9-11. mfa.org]

PRESENTED BY IFFBOSTON; NOAH BAUMBACH IN-PERSON Q&A WHILE WE’RE YOUNG

Brattle Theatre. 40 Brattle St., Harvard Sq., Cambridge.

6:30pm/R/free; tickets are limited – brattlefilm.org]

FRI 3.20 + SAT 3.21

THE BITCH IS BACK ALIENS

[Coolidge Corner.

290 Harvard St., Brookline. midnight/R/$11.25. coolidge.org]

SAT 3.21

FROST IN VERMONT ROBERT FROST: A LOVER’S QUARREL WITH THE WORLD

[Harvard Film Archive.

24 Quincy St., Harvard Sq., Cambridge. 7pm/NR/$7-9.]

TUES 3.24

BOSTON’S FASTEST FILMMAKERS 48-HOUR FILM PROJECT: STAMINA SHOW [Somerville Theatre.

55 Davis Sq., Somerville.

7pm/NR/$10.]

NEWS TO US

THEATER

FEATURE

BIG-Y SMALL

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

Shayna Small ignites her career with The Colored Museum

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

BY SPENCER SHANNON @SUSPENCEY

19

I SEE YOU THERE JESUS, YOU AIN’T HIDING FROM ME! The Colored Museum is a daunting choice for a young actor. From singing and dancing to comedy to its undercurrent of caustic satirical wit, the play demands a lot both physically and emotionally from its lead actress, recent Juilliard grad Shayna Small. For Small, the challenge is worth it: Working at the Huntington is a dream come true, a huge honor, and sadly well-timed.

“I came to Boston primarily for Billy [Porter] and this play,” she says. “I found out that they were doing this play right around the time that all these protests and marches were happening in New York and it just felt like, wow. It’s an older play, but it’s still really relevant, which is kind of sad, that we’re still having that conversation.”

That conversation is the continuing larger one about black culture more often than not engaged in by people who have no business stating their misguided opinions on race and class to begin with. But The Colored Museum turns stereotypes and prejudices on their heads with 11 “exhibits” of African-American culture, searching for what it really means to be black in contemporary America. While it was originally penned in 1986 by Tony Award-winning playwright George C. Wolfe, the play remains just as topical today.

Small, the youngest in a talented cast of Broadway veterans (Nathan Lee Graham, Capathia Jenkins, Ken Robinson, and Rema Webb), plays four different characters, from a flight attendant on a slave ship to a country girl named Normal Jean. And considering the intimidating role, as well as the company she’s in, Small is embracing the opportunity.

“It was so interesting to be in rehearsal and performances and to notice the differences in conversation and perspectives on the things that’d come up, and how we reacted differently to it,” Small says. “Like, what’s more upsetting to them might not upset me as much. But there are still some things that are just very universally felt, and that’s across racial boundaries or across age; it’s still very prevalent.”

Despite its comedic nature, The Colored Museum takes no prisoners, spearing the systems of oppression and racism that incur problematic modes of thinking and cause consequences on a wide scale—from the microaggressions suffered daily by people of color to the egregious acts of violence nationwide that gave life and a voice to the Black Lives Matter movement.

“It’s not easy material to do in that it makes people uncomfortable. A lot of the subjects that it touches on, people would rather sweep under the rug,” Small says. “It’s been a challenge to play to the lightness, so that it’s more easily digestible, but not shying away from discomfort. It’s great if someone leaves a little bit uncomfortable.

I’m hoping that it sparks a conversation so that they can talk about it.”

And Small explains that George C. Wolfe always described the play as an “exorcism”—of both emotion and of truth.

“By the time I’m done with the play, I’m out of breath and sweating, and it really does feel like I’ve been through an exorcism of sorts,” she says. “How do we move forward now that we’ve acknowledged our past? That’s what it’s about. Embracing your past in all of its storied history, the good and the bad, and then moving forward and outward and upward.”

Above all, Small hopes that people who come to see The Colored Museum will do more than laugh (although there will be plenty of that, according to her). She hopes that it will spark conversations and give people pause so they can stop and examine the root causes behind what they say and do, and their preconceived notions on matters of race.

“Even if it’s, you know, ‘I hate the play,’ I’d rather someone have a strong emotion about it than just not talk about it at all,” she says. “And really ask themselves why they hated it. What did it bring up for you? Because otherwise, why even do this?” >> THE HUNTINGTON THEATRE COMPANY PRESENTS: THE COLORED MUSEUM. 264 HUNTINGTON AVE., BOSTON. THROUGH APRIL 5. $25-99. FOR MORE INFORMATION, VISIT HUNTINGTONTHEATRE.ORG

A NEW ROAST EACH WEEK!

SUNDAY

ROAST With all fixings & trimmings 5PM TILL GONE

OLDEMAGOUNSSALOON.COM 518 MEDFORD ST. SOMERVILLE

617-776-2600

ARTS

ALL-AMERICAN REJECTS Wednesday March 18th

KATRINA OF KATRINA AND THE WAVES

Reject Dance Theatre’s latest combines separate pieces from three directors into one interconnected whole

BY SPENCER SHANNON @SUSPENCEY

Pop / Rock

Wed MARCH 18 - 8:30 pm

FILM NIGHT

Emerson Film Immersion Genres: Independent Films $5 Downstairs 18 + ThurMARCH 19 - 9:30pm

MYRIAD

Opposite People, Aalborg Group, DJ Wonʼt, EverdayIsAMixtape Music: Disco, Funk, House, Experimental $5 before 11 pm, $10 after Downstairs 21+

Thursday, March 19th 7:30PM BILL BlUMENREICH PRESENTS

KURT BRAUNOHLER Comedian

Thursday, March 19th 10PM

BOUBACAR DIABETE & SAMBALOLO PLUS LILA Afropop Series

Friday March 20th

THE SMITHEREENS PLUS THE RATIONALES / WATTS Rock

Saturday March 21st

BEATLEJUICE Beatles Covers

Tuesday March 24th 7:30PM MASSMOUTH PRESENTS

Fri MARCH 20 - 10pm

STORY SLAM SEMI-FINALS

VS. UNITY

17 Holland St., Davis Sq. Somerville (617) 776-2004 Directly on T Red Line at Davis

INNADANCE Soul Slinger, Pish Posh, Josiah Scribes, Mark Francis, Francesco Spagna, Cruzz Music: Downstairs = Jungle, Drum N Bass / Upstairs = Classic, Deep, & Soulful House Upstairs $5 before 11 pm, $10 after Downstairs $10 21+

Story Telling

Sat March 21 - 10pm

SWEET SHOP

Fort Romeau, Matt McNeill, CS, Evaredy Music: House, Techno $10 Downstairs 21+ Wed MARCH 25 - 8pm

OPEN MIC NIGHT

Host: Zach Cohen & Featured Artist: Dominic Florio No Cover Downstairs 18+

Friday March 27th 10PM We Dig Free Friday presents

SEGUE plus ROLLING NECTAR Rock / Jam-Funk

Friday April 3rd 10PM We Dig Free Fridays presents

LYNGUISTIC CIVILIANS plus FUNK WAGON Hip-Hop / Funk

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

20

I REALLY LOVE THE DISPLAY AT THE LEOTARD STORE

Friday April 24th 10PM

AMERICAN SYMPHONY OF SOUL Funk / Soul

17 Holland St., Davis Sq. Somerville (617) 776-2004 Directly on T Red Line at Davis

For Stephen Ursprung, one of three artistic directors of the young contemporary dance company Reject Dance Theatre, a career in the arts was something he sort of fell into.

An economics and Italian studies double major at Brown University, Ursprung found himself at a crossroads when he completed his bachelor’s in 2010, only to graduate in the midst of a financial collapse that crippled the US. After years of his regarding it as a passionate (but peripheral) hobby, dance suddenly opened up as a viable career path.

“I kind of used the rejection as a way to decide to just to go for investing in my own artistic expression,” Ursprung says. “I was like, I may as well do this while I’m young and just throw myself into that type of setting while I still have the body and the energy to do it!”

Reject Dance Theatre was also the product of serendipitous chance. Ursprung enrolled at Smith College’s MFA Dance program in a class of five that included fellow students (and future co-directors) Stephanie Simpson and Rebecca Hite Teicheira. The trio later learned that they were the top three picks for the program, even though they’d been rejected by every other program to which they’d applied.

“We banded together as a group of rejects,” Ursprung says with a smile. “[The name] came out of a joke, but it’s memorable, and we definitely do things that are quirky and fun. For most audiences, it’s something a little outside of preconceived notions of what dance might be, especially people who aren’t into contemporary modern dance, and are more exposed to commercial dance. We all kind of came from that. We’ve rejected things along the way, as well as being rejected.”

One of the company’s core values is accessibility. Ursprung believes that the dance world, while full of creative and brilliant minds, can be insular in a way that shuts many potential audiences out. He hopes to use his training in both commercial and avant-garde forms to break down the perceived barrier between “high art” and “low art” in order to attract audiences of all backgrounds and experience levels.

“Our work tends to be more inviting, I would say, than most post-postmodern dance you see in the world,” Ursprung says. “I say that as a blanket statement and not as a dig at anyone else in the field. We try to make our work fun and inviting, definitely not off-putting. But at the same time we’re kind of weird.”

All are apt descriptions for the company’s latest project, The Territory Suites.

Reject’s first evening-length performance, Suites combines separate pieces from all three directors into one interconnected whole, drawing on conventions of theatrical storytelling and inspired by ideas of what it means to occupy a space. “[Simpson’s piece] is a sort of internalized psychological approach to territory and space. And then Rebecca’s piece is so grotesque and animalistic. I would say my approach is pedestrian and human. By framing everything with my work, it sort of contextualizes all of that as part of the human experience,” Ursprung explains. “Instead of having a piece that’s wild and animalistic, having a separate piece that’s intense and emotional and internalized, by having my work scattered throughout the larger narrative arc it tied it all together as one cohesive experience, the life experience.”

As Ursprung has learned, life experiences can’t always be neatly tied up, and the path can be winding. But this openness to exploration is one of the reasons why he came to Boston to build his company.

“I felt like there was a need for new voices to come into the space and contextualize what’s going on, and add a lot of diversity. Boston is a conservative city in terms of its audience base, so I was excited about the opportunity to come in and do something that’s a little bit different than traditional modern dance,” he says.

“The idea of just presenting yourself and being yourself and thinking deeply about that made a lot of sense.” >> REJECT DANCE THEATRE PRESENTS: THE TERRITORY SUITES. THE DANCE COMPLEX, 536 MASS AVE., CAMBRIDGE. MARCH 20-21. 8PM/$25. TO PURCHASE TICKETS, VISIT REJECTDANCETHATRE.COM

21

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

FEATURE

NEWS TO US

SECRET ASIAN MAN

BY TAK TOYOSHIMA @TAKTOYOSHIMA

THE STRIP BAR

BY PAT FALCO ILLFALCO.COM

WHAT'S FOR BREAKFAST

BY PATT KELLEY WHATS4BREAKFAST.COM

OUR VALUED CUSTOMERS

BY TIM CHAMBERLAIN OURVC.NET

SAVAGE LOVE

LOVING COUPLES

BY DAN SAVAGE @FAKEDANSAVAGE

DAILY DIG

DIGBOSTON.C0M

03 18 15 – 03 25 15

22

Is it your opinion that a girl can love a man but also want an open relationship? Or does wanting an open relationship mean that the girl doesn’t love her man? (I’m the girl in this situation.)

Perplexed Over Lusty Yearnings Wanting to fuck other men isn’t proof that a girl (or a boy or a SOPATGS*) doesn’t love her man. When two people make a monogamous commitment—which should be an opt-in choice, not a default setting—they’re promising not to fuck other people.

But both will still wanna fuck other people. If you can’t see yourself sleeping with just one man for the rest of your life—or being in a relationship with just one man at a time—then a monogamous commitment isn’t for you, POLY. And if the man you’re with wants a monogamous commitment—if being with him means you can’t sleep with other men—then he might not be for you either.

I’m a gay man married to a wonderful man. For most of our 12year relationship, we’ve had a boring sexual script that is all about him getting blown. He just doesn’t seem interested in much else, and although we’ve talked about it over the years, nothing has really changed. He is selfish in bed. He’s a wonderful husband

otherwise, and I love him deeply. Recently, he was out of town, and in a weak moment, I ended up meeting an experienced spanking Dom. We’ve met several times, and I’m counting the days until he whales on my butt again. Not in my wildest imagination could or would my husband EVER do something like this with me. He just doesn’t have it in him. I am more sexually fulfilled than I have been in a decade. I’m also lying and cheating.

I’m deeply torn. If I tell my husband, my guess is that he won’t take it well. It could cause our marriage to unravel. If I keep lying, I bear the moral burden of the lie, and he could find out anyway.

Still Professing A Normal Kink We all have sexual limits, we’re all entitled to our sexual limits, but expecting your spouse to do nothing but blow you for 12 years isn’t a limit. It’s bullshit, SPANK. Your husband’s complete disregard for your feelings—for your sense of sexual fulfillment—tips over into the sexual abandonment category. His actions don’t excuse your affair, of course, but horniness, frustration, and duress drove you to this, and your husband has to take his share of the responsibility.

You say your marriage might unravel if you were to tell your husband about this spanking. But whatever the fallout might be— the end of your marriage or renegotiated terms that allow you to get some/most of your needs met elsewhere—is better than the status quo. Tell him. * Some other point along the gender spectrum.

23

ARTS + ENTERTAINMENT

DEPT. OF COMMERCE

FEATURE

NEWS TO US