Philadelphia City Paper, June 25th, 2015 by Philadelphia City Paper

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JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 ISSUE #1569

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PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

IN THIS ISSUE … p. 17

GODDESS, MY WITNESS ADRIAN JACKSON

WHO IS Moor Mother Goddess? The short answer: She’s a Philly musician. But the long answer is really long. She’s an activist, artist, writer, teacher, coach, collagist and charismatic keystone to an Afrofuturist scene that’s looking to expand minds and re-arrange time. Writer John Morrison talks to the Goddess about making music, leading workshops and tapping into ancestral memory.

ADO

CP STAFF Associate Publisher Jennifer Clark Editor in Chief Lillian Swanson

GYPSY!

Senior Editor Patrick Rapa Arts & Culture Editor Mikala Jamison Food Editor Caroline Russock Senior Staff Writer Emily Guendelsberger

6-10 YEARS OLD

Staff Writer Jerry Iannelli

I’m Gypsy, a sweet and spunky 6-10 year old terrier mix who lost my home when my owners were moving. I’m a lively lady who gets along well with other dogs. Please give me a home! Meet Gypsy at PAWS Northeast Adoption Center at 1810 Grant Avenue (at Bustleton).

PAWS animals are spayed/neutered, vaccinated, and microchipped before adoption. For more information, call 215-238-9901 or email adoptions@phillypaws.org

Copy Chief Carolyn Wyman Contributors Sam Adams, Dotun Akintoye, A.D. Amorosi, Rodney Anonymous, Mary Armstrong, Bryan Bierman, Shaun Brady, Peter Burwasser, Mark Cofta, Adam Erace, David Anthony Fox, Caitlin Goodman, K. Ross Hoffman, Jon Hurdle, Deni Kasrel, Alli Katz, Gary M. Kramer, Drew Lazor, Alex Marcus, Gair “Dev 79” Marking, Robert McCormick, Andrew Milner, John Morrison, Michael Pelusi, Natalie Pompilio, Sameer Rao, Jim Saksa, Elliott Sharp, Marc Snitzer, Nikki Volpicelli, Brian Wilensky, Andrew Zaleski, Julie Zeglen. Production Director Dennis Crowley Senior Designer Brenna Adams Designer/Social Media Director Jenni Betz

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Account Managers Sharon MacWilliams (ext. 262), Susanna Simon (ext. 250) Classified Account Manager Jennifer Fisher (215-717-2681) Editor Emeritus Bruce Schimmel founded City Paper in a Germantown storefront in November 1981. Local philanthropist Milton L. Rock purchased the paper in 1996 and published it until August 2014 when Metro US became the paper’s third owner.

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THE BELL CURVE

Philadelphi

a O rchest ra

The Sixers unveil new uniforms. And their new mascot, a pig wearing lipstick.

Philly-based startup SmartPlate has raised $100,000 so far to develop a plate that can count calories. This is an update on their SmartAssPlate prototype, which laughed and poked your belly.

Phillies fans are ranked second worst in baseball when it comes to grammar, according to website Grammarly.com. “Grammarly” isn’t a word, idiots.

The Historical Commission will review a developer’s plans to build a 10-story apartment building with storefronts and underground parking, all along a historic Old City alleyway called Little Boys Court. “We were going build on Little Girls Court but the line was twice as long.”

-1

The Duquesne Brewing Company, in Latrobe, Pa., unveils a new beer in honor of Penn State coaching legend Joe Paterno. It’s described as a pleasant, aged brew that goes along with anything, no matter how distasteful. MELVINS Apparently having run through every unattached bassist on the planet during their 30-year run, Buzz Osborn and Dale Crover have begun absorbing whole rhythm sections from other bands. First it was the bassdrums duo Big Business, which became the band’s most stable identity; on last year’s Hold It In, they teamed with the Butthole Surfers’ Paul Leary and JD Pinkus, perversely creating the poppiest (in Melvins terms, anyway) album in their catalogue. 7/1, Underground Arts, undergroundarts.org. —Shaun Brady

QUICK PICKS

BILL HERBERT

more picks on p. 20 SUPPER, PEOPLE ON THE MOVE When we pick up sticks to become citizens of another country, we carry within ourselves memories and stories that influence how we think and act in our new homeland. Silvana Cardell’s Supper, People on the Move reflects on her journey emigrating from Argentina to the U.S., through dance. Deploying choreography that has the cast running up walls and doing daring feats of balance, she provides an abstract vision of an experience that is both personal and universal. Designed as a communal event, after the show, you’re invited to join the cast for a family-style meal where dinner conversation will concern the performance and the effect of migration. 6/25-28, Icebox Project Space at Crane Arts, supperdance.com. —Deni Kasrel

ETGAR KERET Israeli-born author Keret is best known for his sparse, darkly comic short stories that always leave you wanting more. More recently, however, you might have seen his name on big and small screens, thanks to several adaptations of his work — including 2006’s Wristcutters: A Love Story — and a few scripts he wrote himself. These days he’s touring behind his new book, The Seven Good Years: A Memoir (Penguin), about the days between the birth of his son and the death of his father. 6/25, Free Library Main Branch, freelibrary.org. —Patrick Rapa

Philly resident Myles Lund is hired to jog alongside bicyclists at the Tour de France dressed as Bottle Boy, a giant bottle of water. “And I will hunt you every step of the way,” says Cup of Dark Yellow Pee, the mascot for dehydration.

Philly AIDS Thrift Store is planning to open a mini HIV testing clinic on its second floor. So please donate any old needles you have lying around.

JE SS IC A G

R IF F IN

The World Meeting of Families announces the performers who will play during the pope’s visit, including the Philadelphia Orchestra, Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli and Colombian rock star Juanes. According to a new poll, 75 percent of Philadelphians say they never heard any of those names before, while 25 percent were like, “I think you forgot to say ‘The Roots,’ because they have to play because it’s basically the law.”

PIERRE BORASCI

THIS WEEK ’S TOTAL: +5 // THE YEAR SO FAR: +22

OUR WEEKLY QUALITY-OF-LIFE-O-METER

XIMENA SARIÑANA This is how they make pop starlets in Mexico: smart, savvy, sophisticated, multi-talented. Sariñana, a telenovela and film actress since age 11, who left us utterly charmed on her last visit to Philly, followed up her sprightly, semi-glossy Englishlanguage sophomore set with last year’s No Todo lo Puedes Dar (Warner Brothers), a mix of cool, understatedly funky electropop and richly emotive ballads which hearken to one of her avowed primary influences: Fiona Apple. 7/1, World Cafe Live, worldcafelive.com. —K. Ross Hoffman

SAM GREEN AND YMUSIC The impression of documentaries as dry, dull educational tools was abandoned long ago, but Sam Green steps up the entertainment value even further with his “live documentary” performances. Green last visited Philly with The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller, featuring a live score by Yo La Tengo. He returns with The Measure of All Things, a portrait of eccentric world record holders accompanied by NYC classical renegades yMusic and narration by the filmmaker. 6/26, FringeArts, fringearts.com. —Shaun Brady

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THENAKEDCITY

NEWS // OPINION // POLITICS

ACCUSER: Former Philadelphia Police Officer Andre Boyer alleges two fellow officers fabricated parts of an arrest report involving a large drug bust. The prosecutor dropped the charges. MARK STEHLE

POLICE

BY DANIEL DENVIR

PHILLY COPS IN SKETCHY HEROIN BUST STILL ON THE JOB

WHEN PHILADELPHIA Police Officers Angel Ortiz and Andre Boyer stopped James Singleton’s Cadillac Deville at half past noon on Sept. 1, 2011, Singleton’s hands were nervously shaking. There was, it turned out, something a lot more unusual about his car than a busted brake light. While Boyer ran a background check from inside the cruiser, Ortiz chatted with Singleton on the North Philly street. The driver oddly volunteered that he was on probation — for selling heroin, he explained when asked — and repeatedly looked toward the vehicle’s passenger side, the arrest report states. Ortiz followed those glances. After Singleton mentioned that a bag contained his daughter’s school clothes, Ortiz spotted a black plastic package in the bag that looked like it might contain drugs. Singleton gave verbal consent for police to search the car and, upon “further investigation … Ortiz recognized the black bag was full of what he believed to be heroin.” Strangely, however, the report does not state that Ortiz actually searched the inside of the car. Instead, the vehicle was transported to the Narcotics Field Unit, the suspected heroin still inside. A police dog was brought in to sniff the car about 3:15 p.m. Ortiz then recovered a “black plastic bag from the rear passenger seat protruding from the top of a lager [sic] bag with clothes inside” containing 704 packets of heroin. It was a huge bust for a North Philly car stop: 254 grams with an estimated street value of $7,440. Narcotics Officer Diertra Cuffie then

applied for a search warrant, which was executed at 7 p.m. The police report, on the face of it, is full of inconsistencies. If Officer Ortiz did indeed receive consent to search the vehicle around 12:30 p.m., and spotted what appeared to be heroin, why did he not recover it until about 3:15 p.m. — after a police dog pointed it out? What sort of drug dealer drives around with such an enormous amount of heroin sitting in such plain sight that a cop could spot it from outside the car? And why would an officer need a warrant to once again search a vehicle when $7,440 worth of heroin had already been discovered? In short, she would not. So, when it came to Singleton’s preliminary hearing on Sept. 20, 2011, Officer Ortiz changed his story. He testified that he recovered the heroin at 12:30 p.m. during the stop on the 1400 block of Diamond Street. “At that date, time, and location, I recovered approximately 704 packets of alleged heroin from the defendant’s vehicle,” Ortiz told then-Assistant District Attorney Katherine Armstrong. There’s a reason the police report doesn’t add up, according to Boyer, a fired ex-cop who was Ortiz’s partner that day: Boyer alleges Ortiz worked with narcotics Officer Cuffie to fabricate it. Boyer says Ortiz searched Singleton’s car on Diamond Street, and found the heroin inside a bag, under some clothing. The car was then searched at the 22nd District Police headquarters for more drugs before being taken to the Narcotics Field Unit,

Boyer alleges, where the heroin was placed back in the vehicle. Boyer’s story fills in the paperwork’s gaps and makes sense of its strange inconsistencies. But Boyer, a controversial officer who arrested an enormous number of people for possessing small amounts of marijuana, has likewise faced accusations of misconduct, including a very high-profile case involving rapper Meek Mill, and a separate case for which he was fired. Boyer denies allegations of wrongdoing, and says his firing was the result of retaliation for blowing the whistle on Ortiz and Cuffie — who, nearly four years later, remain on the job.

I said, ‘Ma’am, are you sure you got the right case? This is not what happened.’

ACCORDING TO BOYER, Ortiz said that Singleton had given verbal consent to search the car, but instructed Boyer not to ask Singleton for written consent. “He opens up the bag and lo and behold, there’s two bundles of heroin in it,” says Boyer. Boyer didn’t understand how Ortiz knew that drugs were hidden inside an opaque bag, he tells City Paper. “I said, ‘Well, how did you know it was narcotics?’ He said, ‘Oh, I can tell by the way it is boxed.’” The pair went to the 22nd District headquarters with Singleton, the Cadillac and the heroin, says Boyer. A third officer, Michael Vargas, then searched the vehicle and determined that no more drugs were inside.

continued on p. 8

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THE VEHICLE? City Paper was given multiple photos that purportedly show James Singleton’s car at the 22nd District police headquarters.

Boyer says he and Ortiz then headed to the Narcotics Field Unit. Ortiz, who had the heroin in his possession, drove Singleton’s vehicle. Boyer drove the squad car. When they arrived, Ortiz met Officer Cuffie inside the building. The two walked away, and did not return for about an hour. Boyer did paperwork. “I didn’t think anything of it,” Boyer says, until “approximately three weeks later, I’m in the hallway at CJC [Criminal Justice Center]. And the ADA [Assistant District Attorney AllisonWorysz] walks up to me and she says, ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’” She had questions about the case. “I said, ‘Ma’am, are you sure you got the right case? This is not what happened.’ She says, ‘Y’all called for a dog.’ I said, ‘No.’ She says, ‘Y’all got a search warrant.’ I said, ‘No, there was no need to get a search warrant. And there was no need to call for a dog.’” The heroin, according to Boyer, had already been recovered, and Singleton’s car thoroughly searched. Boyer said that Worysz was troubled. “‘Oh my God,’” she allegedly said. “‘That’s what the motion was for,’” likely referring to a motion to suppress evidence filed by Singleton’s lawyer, Max Kramer. That motion accused Ortiz of having “conducted a full-blown search of a bag located in the rear of [Singleton’s] vehicle without a lawfully issued warrant, probable cause … exigent circumstances or verbal or written consent.” Worysz, whose name is now Allison Ruth, did not respond to repeated requests for comment. The DA’s Office says the matter is under review and that it hopes to provide more information in the near future. BOYER SAYS BOTH he and Vargas told Internal Affairs similar stories in 2014 about Vargas searching the car at the 22nd District headquarters. (Meek Mill, whose legal name is Robert Williams, filed an unsuccessful lawsuit in 2013 alleging that officers, including Boyer andVargas, detained him illegally.)

Vargas declined an interview, saying that he was told that it was against department policy to discuss internal investigations. But Boyer provided City Paper with multiple photographs that he says were taken by Vargas: shots of the inside and outside of Singleton’s Cadillac Deville, of Singleton’s license and registration, and of a large package containing smaller packets of apparent drugs stamped with a blue devil insignia. If they are authentic, the photos contradict Ortiz and Cuffie’s account: While the arrest report suggests that Singleton’s car was transported directly to the Narcotics Field Unit, the photographs purportedly taken by Vargas appear to be from the 22nd District parking lot. Such possible lies could amount to perjury, a felony offense, because they were stated in a search-warrant affidavit made under oath by Cuffie, and which appears to be based on information provided by Ortiz. Kramer’s motion to suppress alleged that the affidavit contained falsehoods. Cuffie could not be reached for comment. City Paper reached a man by phone at a number listed as belonging to Ortiz. But the conversation was brief: “Let me tell you something about Andre Boyer. Andre Boyer is a piece of shit and I hope he dies. Bye.” AT SINGLETON’S preliminary hearing, Ortiz testified that the heroin was recovered on Diamond Street while Cuffie testified that the heroin was still in the vehicle when it was recovered, which would have been hours later. The DA, apparently troubled by their stories, ultimately dropped felony possession with intent to deliver and misdemeanor possession charges against Singleton on June 5, 2012. Kramer did not respond to requests for comment, and a woman who answered the door at an address linked to Singleton said that he did not want to speak to City Paper. Three years after the charges against Singleton were dropped, District Attorney Seth Williams’ office has not prosecuted

continued on p. 10

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PHILLY COPS IN SKETCHY HEROIN BUST STILL ON THE JOB

continued f rom p. 8

Ortiz or Cuffie. The Police Department will not comment on the Singleton case, or whether it is investigating Ortiz and Cuffie, because they say that doing so would compromise such an investigation, were it to exist. Meanwhile, Boyer says that he first pseudonymously reported the misconduct to Internal Affairs in late 2014, and then complained under his own name in May. Boyer says that Internal Affairs interviewed him in 2014, but he believes that the office closed the inquiry without taking action. Singleton was contacted for an Internal Affairs interview in October 2014, according to a letter Boyer provided to City Paper. Boyer says that he was interviewed again by investigators this past Monday. There appears to be a police investigation underway, but it is unclear why it has taken so long, and whether the police or DA dropped the ball after Worysz first discovered that the case was likely bogus in 2011. The Police Department did, however, investigate Boyer. A person accused him of stealing money during a Sept. 6, 2011, drug-related car stop. He was fired in September 2013. According to an August 2014 arbitration decision, Boyer was not found to have stolen money. But the arbitrator did uphold Boyer’s firing, affirming findings including that he had seized money without cause and lied to investigators. Notably, it was Ortiz who provided critical testimony against Boyer, including by corroborating the complainant’s story. Boyer contends that Ortiz lied to retaliate. “I blew the whistle and I told what happened,” says Boyer, and “after that, things started going crazy for me.” Prior to the disciplinary hearing that led to his firing, Boyer says he told Fraternal Order of Police Lodge 5 Vice President John McGrody and lawyer Marc Gelman, who was arguing Boyer’s case, of Ortiz’s misconduct and motive to retaliate. But Boyer, who has filed a federal lawsuit, says that McGrody instructed Gelman that he could not use that information to attack Ortiz’s credibility. McGrody and Gelman did not respond to requests for comment. IN REALITY, Boyer’s career began to publicly implode in April 2013, following an Inquirer report that Boyer had been the subject of a 2008 police investigation that determined he had “falsified dozens of arrest reports,” including by falsely entering into a police database that he had performed field tests on suspected drugs, and for mishandling seized drugs. Boyer maintains that he only did so because detectives who actually performed the tests, which were for marijuana, directed him to do the paperwork. Boyer was suspended for six days, but Commissioner Charles Ramsey raised it to 20. Boyer appealed to an arbitrator, who reduced the suspension back to six. In 2012, Boyer filed a federal lawsuit accusing Lt. Karyn Baldini, who handled the 2008 Internal Affairs probe, of engaging in a racially discriminatory investigation. Boyer says that in January 2013, Baldini retaliated against him by searching his records anew. In a September 2013 deposition, Baldini said she had reopened portions of the

closed 2008 investigation but did so only to check her work before providing the file to the City Solicitor. City Paper was unable to reach Baldini, but the city settled the case for $4,000. It was also sometime in early 2013, it appears, that the 2008 police investigation of Boyer got the attention of a reporter at the Inquirer. Boyer contends that it was leaked. But Boyer’s name had also been in the news, because he was being sued by Meek Mill, and his lawsuit against Baldini was public record. Reporter Mark Fazlollah declined to say what or who initially piqued his interest in the case. Through it all, the city’s drug war has for years operated with little oversight and widespread accusations of police corruption, abuse and perjury. Whatever the truth of the accusations against Boyer, he is one of the few to be punished. Ortiz and Cuffie have both testified in court within the last year. If either lied, every defendant they have testified against since September 2011 should be eager to know. Daniel Denvir is a contributing writer at CityLab. Contact him at ddenvir@theatlantic.com.

Let me tell you something about Andre Boyer. Andre Boyer is a piece of shit and I hope he dies. Bye.

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Readers: Say what you think, right here.

SPEAKING OUT

BY ANNETTE JOHN-HALL

Pitting hate against hate has never gotten us anywhere.

COMPLICIT IN YOUR SILENCE DEAR WHITE PEOPLE: I want so badly to hate you. I hate how, in light of the horrific church shootings at historic Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, S.C., I’ve spent the past week walking around in a seething rage, while you’ve been silent, as if racial hatred will slink away if you don’t say a thing. I hate that my black Facebook friends and I have turned our feeds into therapy sessions as we try to fathom how a white terrorist could massacre nine African Americans in cold blood, while you obliviously post vacation selfies from down the Shore. We grieve and, out of profound respect, refrain from using banal media shorthand like the “Charleston Nine.” Instead, we make a point of saying their names: the Rev. Clementa Pinckney, the Rev. Depayne Middleton Doctor, Cynthia Hurd, Susie Jackson,Tywanza Sanders, the Rev. Daniel L. Simmons Sr., the Rev. Sharonda Singelton, MyraThompson, Ethel Lee Vance. These were God-fearing folks who unknowingly prayed with the devil during Bible study, before the devil killed them. So, we add their names to the ever-growing list of black innocents killed by whites, as we continue to ask the question passed down from generation to generation: Why do you hate us so much? I am the wife of an A.M.E. pastor. The African Methodist Episcopal church is a close-knit denomination of 7,000 places of worship, many born as an antidote to the racial discrimination that black institutions faced. Indeed, Denmark Vesey, one of the founders of “Mother” Emanuel, was hanged after planning a slave uprising. The church was burned and outlawed, but still it rose, operating underground until 1865. Last week, I went to buy black bunting to drape over our church door — nine days of mourning to commemorate the nine parishioners who lost their lives. The white cashier looked at me with a combination of sympathy and shame. She tried to make small talk, complimenting my turquoise nails as I fumbled for my credit card. Oh, shut up! I wanted to tell her. Like so many other black faithful, I needed to be in church last Sunday, to hear a good word that would combat the anger and bitterness threatening to overtake me. My husband preached about how our brothers and sisters in Charleston lost their lives while living out their faith. How forgiveness and mercy are requirements of our faith. How the best we can do is look beyond ourselves to love, a love that transcends understanding. Admittedly, I left church confused. Just because I’m a believer doesn’t mean my rage will instantly dissolve. Forgiveness is the last thing I want to practice right now, but I am trying. And, yes, white people, I still think you’re complicit in your silence. But I know one thing: Pitting hate against hate has never gotten us anywhere. As African Americans, we’ve learned to fight in the spirit of love as we continue to live with our pain. We can’t opt out, like you can. White people, if there was ever a time to stop playing innocent bystander, it’s now. What are you going to do? When will you emerge from your privileged silos and do the hard work necessary to confront the shame of your history? Calling for the take-down of the Confederate flag is a start, but sadly, it took the slaughter of nine black lives before its removal was seriously considered. When will you realize that when it comes to the everlasting stain of racism, you can’t feign ignorance anymore? What are you going to do? (editorial@citypaper.net) Annette John-Hall is a Cherry Hill-based writer and a former columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer.

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Learning to unplug and let go at a summer camp for grown ass adults words by mikala jamison photos by maria pouchnikova

GANG’S ALL HERE: Campers gather at the main meeting place at Camp Bonfire, where directors announce each day’s activities. At right, the giant swing.

giant swing hangs in the treetops at the Lake Owego Camp for Boys in Greeley, Pa., about three hours north of Philadelphia. To take a ride, you wear a harness, and a rope is attached to you by a carabiner at your waist. The other end of the rope is threaded through a pulley up in the trees and down into the hands of several fellow campers, who run backward with it, lifting you about 30 feet up. When a staffer yells, “Punch!” you yank the ripcord in your right hand, which sends you falling and swinging; that first dramatic swing propels you to the top of the adjacent trees, your feet tickling the highest branches. After a 29-year-old single mother from Philadelphia named Jihan Thomas tries the swing, she bursts into tears once she gets back on solid ground. “In the city you’re just so tight; you’re thinking about seven thousand things a day — I felt a huge release after the swing,” she tells me. “You can’t get that in the hood. “This,” she says, “opened up a space in my soul.” Thomas’ experience, like the experiences of 135 people over 21 years old, took place over the weekend of June 12 to 14, when that Greeley campground hosted the first Camp Bonfire, a “real summer camp for adults,” the passion project of two Philadelphia performance artists. Like Thomas, I discovered that there is a great deal to be found at Camp Bonfire that you can’t get in the city — or anywhere else. This is my camp diary.

day 1

round 10:30 a.m. Friday, I walk just past 30th Street Station up John F. Kennedy Boulevard, looking for the group who’ll be boarding a yellow school bus to camp — a bus with no air conditioning on this 90-plus degree day, with legroom better suited to 8-year-olds. “Camp Bonﬁre?“ someone calls. I join the grownups laden with backpacks, yoga mats and sleeping bags. If you do a Google search for “adult summer camp” — its creators prefer the phrase “summer

camp for adults“ rather than the pornier reverse phrasing — you’ll notice a theme: “booze-soaked”; “sexy, boozy camp” with “drunk field day” and “hangover yoga.” Bonfire, meanwhile, highlights activities and camp culture first — the mention of the beer and cocktails available each night is but a footnote on the website. By the way, the cost of attending Lake Owego Camp for Boys this year from June 27 to Aug. 15 is $10,850. It costs adult campers this weekend $479, which includes everything except a bus ticket or parking pass (around $40). The directors published discount codes for $100 off, so a lot of people paid less than $400. At the bus stop, Becca Collins, 43, from D.C., says she wants to “hit the reset button.” She could have driven, but paid to park her car in Philly over the weekend to board the yellow bus. Though our bus only accommodates roughly a third of all the campers — there is a bus from New York, too, and many drive themselves — it’s already obvious what a diverse group we are: millennials, the middle-aged, people of every race. While packing our adult bodies into a space for children, there’s delightfully mature conversation: the reproductive habits of tardigrades, also known as water bears; the temperature the body must maintain for REM sleep; someone uses the word “desiccate.” People hardly glance at their phones. At Camp Bonfire, you’re asked to go without technology anyway. You can even have the staff lock up your phone for you all weekend. We arrive at the gorgeous, sprawling camp. I’m placed in cabin Delaware (kismet — I was born and raised there) and meet my cabin counselor, Lee Etzold. She’s brimming with energy and goodwill, and has the expressive disposition of a thespian — she’s an actor, writer and director in Philly, and reminds me of Molly Shannon (who had a role in Wet Hot American Summer, the camp movie on everyone’s mind). There’s a provided toiletries basket in the bathroom of our cabin. In it: tissues, toothpaste, tampons and condoms. The directors insist that a guideline for intercamper relations is “enthusiastic consent.“ Most people here have elected to sleep in mixed-gender cabins (though there are single-sex ones, too). The camp website reads, “If you come with a love or find a new one, we ask that you use the many acres of forest to express that love and not your cabin that has 10 other people in it.” After acclimating in the cabin to the company of menacing spiders and face-melting heat, it’s time for camp orientation.

“ANY TIME WE SAY ‘Camp Bonﬁre,’ you all interrupt us to

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. p n o d e u in t

skip the 7 a.m. sunrise yoga session this morning and am wrestled from sleep by human alarm clocks Jacob and Ben, who cruise around camp beating a drum and singing outside each cabin. There are a couple of activity periods throughout the day, and during each, there’s much to choose from. “We intentionally make every activity period have something sporty, something naturey, something relaxing, something adventurous, something silly,“ Jacob says. Today I talk with Ruth Green, 62, from Danville, Pa., who says she appreciates that the activities are so diverse. “You almost feel like you have to belong to an organization or an interest, like a kayaking group or a hiking group to do things like this, but they kind of made it open for people

s n

day 2

haven’t eaten anything but bus snacks since before noon. After, someone inquires about coffee. Truly, there’s no sight like a bunch of grown-ass people on a porch at a boys’ summer camp rallying themselves for the activities to come by desperately clutching their mugs of watery camp coffee, waiting for the light to revisit their already drowsy eyes. Tonight’s activity will be cabin olympics. Each cabin is to give itself a new name and prepare a presentation. The best example of “you just had to be there“ would be my attempt to explain the origins of cabin Delaware’s new name and group presentation, so I’ll merely say we were renamed cabin Jungle Bite, we wore warrior-style face paint, someone played a djembe, and camp staffer Danielle danced in the middle of our chanting circle, representing a bonfire by wearing a bright orange tinsel-and-feather dress. The olympics themselves: There is a round of quizzo; a race to see who can run screaming down the field the furthest on only one breath; there’s an epic game of all-camp rockpaper-scissors — once we get down to the final two players, people are crazed, screaming, sweaty. Night begins to fall as we complete relay races, and campers are crashing into each other, falling onto the grass in hysterics. It is, frankly, incredible to behold. After the olympics, camp assembles around a massive bonfire, wood pallets burning while people nibble s’mores and sip cocktails from Art in the Age and beers from Yards. After only a few minutes, heat lightning and thunder rumble through the sky. The fire is abandoned and camp moves into the shelter of the basketball court. Many people shoot hoops; others step outside from under the roof and dance in the rain. I spend a few minutes talking to counselor Alie Huxta, who says that if you give people — adults — the chance to act like kids, they will. It’s an invitation to let go. “I haven’t felt like this in years,“ she says. Later I climb into bed, soothed by the smells of natural wood and damp soil. More than a hundred adults doze here tonight, a day of new adventures now behind them, the sounds of rain pattering outside open windows.

sing, ‘This camp is on fire,’” directs Jacob Winterstein, 29, co-founder and co-director of Camp Bonfire along with Benjamin Camp, 32 — yes, that is actually his last name. More kismet. Ben and Jacob met as teenagers at summer camp, and they’re serious about the values and skills camp has instilled in them. “I feel like my personality was forged in the communal experience that was summer camp,“ Ben says. They’re both involved in the Philly arts scene — Ben’s an artistic director with Team Sunshine Corporation and Jacob is a spoken word poet and works with The Philly Pigeon and the Philadelphia Poetry Slam. Camp Bonfire has humble beginnings — the two had the idea of a summer camp for adults, and then just went for it. Jacob is walking us through one of the many camp call-and-response chants we’ll learn this weekend. “This camp is on fire,“ is meant to be sung to the tune of Alicia Keys’ “Girl on Fire,“ though there is a polarizing dispute among the assembly about whether the response should be “This camp is on fire,“ or, “This camp is bonfire.“ I am uncomfortable when coerced into things like call-and-response chants. I’m semi-wary about the camp vibe. It’s when each of the nearly dozen counselors and staffers sings their name and some rhyming, silly facts about themselves during the boisterous “shabooya roll call” song (as seen in the Spike Lee film Get on the Bus) that I think, “An introvert wouldn’t be able to fucking stand it here.“ But Ben tells us we don’t have to do anything at camp. Hate group games? Skip ‘em and go for a hike. Want to spend your time in the woods doing nothing but chilling in a hammock? You got it. The mantra of camp: “You’re a grown-ass adult. Do what you want.“ “It’s hard in the world,“ Jacob offers. “It’s easier here.“ Dinner the first night is devoured with ferocity; most

PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

with all diﬀerent types of interests,“ she says. Camp indeed is a one-stop shop to try new things, so after breakfast, I make a beeline for the high ropes course; I try the aforementioned giant swing and the rock climbing walls. I make a mental pros and cons list for each: Giant swing pro: Being lifted into the trees is exhilarating.

THIS DIRECTOR’S ON FIRE: Jacob Winterstein, co-director and co-founder of Camp Bonfire, invites campers to try activities outside their comfort zone. At right, Jatolloa davis.

Giant swing cons: As you’re lifted into the air, the harness uses your torso and internal organs as a stress ball. Rock wall pros: I do the shortest, easiest rock wall in a brisk minute. I feel smug about completing this activity, which is literally designed for 8-year-old boys. Rock wall cons: I can’t conquer any wall beyond the easiest, shortest one. I am baffled how anyone can climb the more difficult rock walls, which have grips the size of nipples. I am frustrated that I am not immediately an expert at this activity. After the second activity period on Saturday, Camp Bonfire settles itself into the preplanned 1:30 p.m. rest hour — we’re asked to relax and keep the volume low. It’s these quiet moments that bring us back to our realities as adults who take any invitation to unwind. Here, though, the unwind doesn’t include air conditioning, Netflix, phones or even much social interaction: We connect instead to a cushion of grass or the weave of a waterfront hammock, the rays of sun bouncing off a still lake or our own skin, or to the book we’ve been using as a coaster for our phone on the nightstand at home. It’s more than a vacation: It feels like we’ve maybe discovered a new way of being still.

» c

WRESTING US OUT OF our rest-hour reverie is the ringing of the camp bell, alerting us to the

o n t in u e d f r o m p . 13

next activity: Capture the Flag, Flag, Flag, Flag, Flag — there are five flags hidden around camp, not just one. Jacob and Ben split the camp property in half with a line of flour. Teams distinguish themselves by painting their faces with blue Os and orange Xs. I see a woman sitting on the porch of her cabin, watching, and decide to meet her instead of play. “I’m not really big on group activities,“ Mary Brewster tells me. The “over 60“ retired EPA employee from Philly came to camp with her husband, Frank. She describes herself as an introvert, and I ask if she thinks people like her might have a hard time enjoying Bonfire. “I don’t think that’s the case,“ she says. She’s been bonding with her bunkies and had a blast organizing their skit for cabin olympics. “I just really felt good because a couple other people in the group said, ‘You know, I’m really an introvert, I don’t like some of these things,’ so it was just nice that there are people who are really always into the group things, and those who aren’t. You’re going to find somebody you can talk to.“ Shay(den) Gonzalez, 30, from West Philly, is a staffer/counselor at camp. He agrees that Camp Bonfire isn’t strictly a place for extroverted types, or any type, really. “I was definitely an awkward kid, and I’m still an awkward adult,“ he says. “But it’s really nice because I feel like you can easily fall into space with other awkward adults here.“ He says he’s seen people who arrived alone and seemed apprehensive fall into groups and get comfortable.

“It’s been really nice to watch people unfold,“ Shay says. “I do think there’s a transformative element [to camp].“ Near the lake, Rueben Pacheco, 38, from Brooklyn, is talking about music festivals. “Music fests are really the only similar thing to here,“ he says, because of the idea of being outside, “in touch with nature,“— but music festivals are deeply commercialized, a place to see and be seen in expensive “festival fashion,“ days filled with racing from one stage to the next with an $8 can of Bud Light in your hand. But at camp, Reuben says, “you can really form a community.“ That’s thanks in large part to activities and workshops that reinforce the camp culture of connection and creativity. “Here, it’s more about just being present and playing,“ he says. Speaking of being present, during the next Saturday activity period, I try meditation in the woods with counselor Dana Crawford, aka “Free.“ She leads our small group into the woods. We sit on stones, logs or the forest floor; my ass hurts, I’m distracted by the far-off sounds of other campers yelling, and the sight of a beetle so enormous that it practically has biceps scurrying under one of the leaves near my foot. I can’t concentrate. Free is guiding us through mediation up a mountain, then down to a beach. On the beach, Free says, is a shack with my name on it. She says it’s my sanctuary. “In your sanctuary,“ she says, “you have everything you need.“ At that, something wells up inside, and despite my cynicism and frustration, my eyes prickle with tears. What kind of a place has everything I need? Isn’t that what we’re all constantly searching for? A few campers will later share with me their reflections on the camp experience: “Everything we needed was right there, not the least continued on p. 16 »

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

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PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

of which was each other,“ says counselor Basil Hillel. “Without even knowing, I’ve been so hungry for exactly what camp provided.“ Says camper Alexandra Koslow: “I felt like I got a piece of my soul back.“ This camp might be the kind of place where I, where many of us here, do have everything we need — a connection to nature and other people, the opportunity for ad-

BE SILENT, BE STILL: Dana Crawford, aka ‘Free,’ leads a group in guided meditation in the woods.

venture, creativity and learning, a safe, nonjudgmental space, a lack of distraction and technology, a place where everyone around you is warm and kind and playful and acting as their best selves. I feel so happy here because this place gives me so much of what I forgot I needed. But I feel so sad, too — because this place is temporary. Saturday night’s activity: the Talent/No Talent Show. Jacob and Free are our emcees, and the show begins with a poem from the newly formed, six-member Camp Bonﬁre poetry collective. The last stanza was written by camper Drew Anderson: We are all here // because we were called here What’s small is large here // the large is small here All the cheers, all the beers, all the fears, all the tears Let’s see ourselves in each other as if we’re all mirrors.

Also in the show: a group standup comedy presentation of off-color, deliciously groanworthy jokes — “Why can’t Barbie get pregnant? Because Ken came in another box!“ — an original song called “Tessa Thinks I’m Ugly“ and poem construction inspired by audience members’ dreams. Here, in this warm, supportive little bubble, it’s like watching magic happen. People who would never otherwise take a stage are up there, they’re trying, and the audience is whooping and shouting messages of love and no one cares about embarrassment or judgment. Later that night, at the bonfire 2.0 and camp dance party, I’m exhausted. I turn in around midnight, the sounds of merriment riding on the breeze across a dewy green field and into my cabin, lulling me again to sleep. I find out later that while I was sleeping, some people went skinny dipping in the lake. At one point, they froze in terror at sounds coming from the woods. They thought they were hearing coyotes. Turns out it was a woman having an orgasm.

c o n t in u e d f r o m p . 14

r day 3 r

he adults are struggling this morning at summer camp. A large portion of the camp isn’t even at breakfast. The counselors have lost their voices, campers are bleary-eyed and it’s more apparent than ever that the over-21 set is, well, not a bunch of kids anymore.

But still we press on. I decide my last activity of the day will be a final visit to the lake. I learned how to canoe and took a swim the first day, but today I want to stand-up paddleboard. As I’m cruising, I pass camper Kacia Ng. “Don’t you just feel like Pocahontas doing this?“ she cries out cheerfully. And you know what, I do. I’ve never felt more like Pocahontas in my life. The Disney version, anyway. Then it’s time for the closing ceremony. I sit down with Lee in our cabin beforehand. She talks of the tears she knows are imminent as people depart camp. “You go into a really interesting mental state when you’re really cut off, to a degree, from this ‘adult life’ you’ve built for yourself,“ she says. “Some of the crying is the final release before you have to reconstruct yourself,“ she continues. “I guess there’s a little bit of mourning that happens.“ At the ceremony, Jacob and Ben light a final bonfire, and we gather around. As Ben gestures while speaking, a huge dragonfly alights on his hand, and stays there for about two minutes. Jacob asks for anyone who wants to share a story or special moment from camp. The last to share is Mark Valenzuela. He says earlier, he was standing and talking with a new camp friend, Tony. They are taking in the camp sights, and Tony remarked, “I hope heaven is this good.“ The entire assembly cheers. I recall something Ben said during our interview. “I in my life seek experiences that I can describe as heaven on earth, where I can look around and say, ‘This is it, this is what I’ve been looking for.’“ And so he and Jacob have done something remarkable — they’ve created out of thin air a haven, a sanctuary. A place where we have everything we need. (mikala@citypaper.net, @notjameson)

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

ARTS&ENTERTAINMENT

ARTS // MUSIC // THEATER // BOOKS

CLASS ACT: Moor Mother Goddess, aka Camae Defstar, mixes art and activism. ADRIAN JACKSON

HIP-HOP/PUNK/SOUL

BY JOHN MORRISON

DO YOU WANT MOOR?!!!??!

Philly’s Moor Mother Goddess mixes artful Afrofuturism with a heavy dose of the here and now. ON A COLD NIGHT in December, Moor Mother Goddess spat out a fiery sermon from the stage of the Vox Populi art space in Chinatown. Her half-sung, half-spoken vocals cut through the dark room and dense, palpitating music as she paced the stage: “Families lost/ and are digging up the earth/ so many bodies/ so many graves/ 800,000 dead in Rwanda/ 400,000 dead in Darfur/ 110,000 dead in Namibia/ 500,000 dead in Ethiopia/ 5.4 million dead in the Congo/ did you feel it/ did you see it?” DJ Haram provided the backdrop, spinning chaotic, sunburnt beats that twisted and scratched their way out of the speakers. Although I’d known Camae Defstar for years — as co-founder of ROCKERS!, a regular showcase for punk and heavy

rock bands featuring people of color — this appearance at queer/Afrofuturist art party Chrome City was the first time I had seen her perform as Moor Mother Goddess. I’d heard it was next-level, but this was a whole other world. Defstar first started this project in late 2012, when her band, Philly punk legends Mighty Paradocs, went on hiatus. Since then, Moor Mother Goddess, aka MMGz, has released nearly a dozen self-produced EPs and albums, most of which are available on bandcamp.com. “I wanted to make music that I could do alone,” she says. “The name is me honoring the mother, particularly the Black/Moor mother. …The sound aesthetic is something that is based on memory, ancestral memory.”

The sound aesthetic is something that is based on memory, ancestral memory.

MMGz songs are often named for and exalting the memory of influential Black women: Marian Anderson, Ruby Dee, Maya Angelou and more. MMGz’s lo-fi/homemade sound pulls equally from hip-hop, punk, noise, blues and free jazz. Ragged, clattering beats rub up against spiraling samples that thrust in and out of the mix. An indigenous African understanding of time and space is central to the MMGz aesthetic. The past is presented as a living thing, the future is a place where death is transcended and our ancestors possess the spiritual power to affect contemporary events. “We all need a more African outlook,” she says. “In Bantu tribes, they view time different, in other African tribes they don’t have a word for death. Ways of thinking/moving have definitely been flipped around.” Day-to-day, Defstar works as a substitute teacher and basketball coach at a Philadelphia school and as an advocate for marginalized women. When she’s not organizing fundraisers for nonprofit programs, she’s leading workshops aimed at educating Black women about housing laws, “healing trauma through writing” and other grassroots causes. “I’m doing two writing workshops this month at a women’s shelter here in Philly. I also do a freestyle workshop for women and girls,” she says. “Workshops allow me to work directly with folks who need support and my performances are all emotion.” It was this desire to create practical methods of empowering marginalized people that led Defstar to co-found the Black Quantum Futurism (aka BQF) art collective with author Rasheedah Phillips. BQF fuses the pair’s heady, futuristic aesthetic with grassroots community work. “BQF started off as a theory, as a manifesto on exploring other modes of time consciousness that would be more beneficial to marginalized peoples’ survival in a world currently dominated by oppressive linear-time consciousness,” says Phillips. “With the help of MMGz, it has since expanded into a project of artistic and literary collaboration which explores the intersections of imagination, futurism, literature, art, D.I.Y. aesthetics and activism in marginalized communities.” Holding true to this mission, MMGz and BQF have hosted events throughout the city, including fundraisers for nonprofits, benefits for survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault, an open community discussion on state violence against Black women and more. It’s this marriage of art and activism that energizes MMGz’s work. “[There’s] something about knowing that as Black women we have the power to create own platforms, to showcase ourselves and share our stories,” she says. (editorial@citypaper.net) Moor Mother Goddess plays Sun., June 28, 8 p.m., $5-$7, with Mawn, Heller Wahn and Plattenbrau, W/N W/N Coffee Bar, 931 Spring Garden St., worldeventer.com.

PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

FILMS ARE GRADED BY CIT Y PAPER CRITICS A-F.

MOVIESHORTS

SWING BOWL: Jason Schwartzman, Judith Godrèche, Adam Scott and Taylor Schilling star in a sex comedy for the marrieds.

SEX COMEDY

THE OVERNIGHT

/ B+ / If Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man is the benchmark for the masculine ideal, Mark and Jay Duplass’ take on the modern male holds down the sadder, flabbier side of the scale. Regardless of their level of involvement, every feature the brothers touch proceeds at the behest of the standard-issue “Duplass Dude.” Emotionally fraught, romantically frustrated, at once over-the-hill and undergrown, he’s a pessimistic representation of patriarchal presence, uniformed in faded band tees and sardonic scowls. In Patrick Brice’s The Overnight, executive-produced by Mark and Jay Duplass and Adam Scott, this sad-sack, dad-bodded prototype finally receives what it needs: a swift, sexually fluid kick in the nuts. Brice, whose other Duplass-associated feature, Creep, is also being distributed by The Orchard, takes the theatrical “two neurotic couples” template and spikes the communal punch bowl with a bunch of crushed-up Viagra. (Think Carnage, except with the weirdest boner.) Adam Scott and Taylor Schilling, as Alex and Emily, are fresh arrivals to Los Angeles from Seattle, adjusting to a new life in a new city with a relatively new son. They

fret — well, more specifically, Duplass Dude Alex frets (Emily’s the breadwinner) — over making new friends, so a chance meeting with friendly neighbor Kurt (Jason Schwartzman) seems like a social mitzvah. A wealthy, worldly and intense Renaissance man with a beautiful French wife and a huge American manse, Kurt leads Alex and Emily through a seemingly innocent night in, though it’s not long before pizza with the kids shifts into something else entirely. Watching him and Charlotte (Judith Godrèche) shoot each other telling glances as they get their guests increasingly drunk and stoned, you get the feeling you know where this whole thing is going — but Brice takes a few strange turns, some more welcome than others, before he gets there. The most interesting thing about The Overnight, aside from its quartet of solid performances and its reliance on, um, ambitious prosthetics, is its insistence that all experiences, no matter how uncomfortable or traumatic, can result in growth. It’s an odd back-roads-only route to serenity — exactly what all Duplass Dudes, and the men and women who love them, need. —Drew Lazor (area theaters)

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

Film events and special screenings.

REPERTORY FILM

BY DREW LAZOR

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE 3701 Chestnut St., 215-387-5125, ihousephilly.org. Mid-August Lunch (2008, Italy, 75 min.): Gianni Di Gregorio cares for a gaggle of wacky ladies in this comedy set during Italy’s Pranzo di Ferragosto. A 35mm screening. Thu., June 25, 7 p.m., $9. The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988, U.K./Italy, 126 min.): Terry Gilliam re-creates just a few of the outlandish tales of valor attributed to the German war hero in this postmodern comedy. A 35mm screening. Fri., June 26, 7 p.m., $9. Clash of the Titans (1981, U.K./U.S., 118 min.): “Provide him with suitable weapons — weapons of divine temper!” Sat., June 27, 2 p.m., $5. Juliet of the Spirits (1965, Italy, 137 min.): Fellini’s first film in color, starring his wife Giulietta Masina as a woman on a surreal journey of self-discovery. Sat., June 27, 7 p.m., $9. How Strange to Be Named Federico (2013, Italy, 96 min.): Ettore Scola’s experimental documentary about his good friend Fellini. Sat., June 27, 9:30 p.m., $9.

11 a.m., $10, and Sun., June 28, 11 a.m., $10. M. Hulot’s Holiday (1953, France, 83 min.): Jacques Tati’s comedy of errors showcases the many talents of the French auteur. A 35mm screening. Mon., June 29, 2 p.m., $8, and Wed., July 1, 2 p.m., $8. Haemoo (2014, Korea, 111 min.): The crew of a South Korean fishing vessel gets wrapped up in a complicated human trafficking operation. Tue., June 30, 7:30 p.m., $12. Bring It On (2000, U.S., 98 min.): A plucky cheerleading captain (Kirsten Dunst) discovers that her award-winning routines have been stolen from a talented inner-city squad led by Gabrielle Union. A BYOB screening ($2 corkage per person). Wed., July 1, 7:30 p.m., $10.

PFS THEATER AT THE ROXY 2023 Sansom St., 267-639-9508, filmadelphia.org/roxy. Tangerine (2015, U.S., 88 min.): Sundance smash, shot entirely on an iPhone, following two boisterous transgender prostitutes on the lookout for a pimp who did them wrong. Thu., June 25, 7:30 p.m., $10. Blow Out (1981, U.S., 108 min.): Brian De Palma’s Philadelphia-based thriller, starring John Travolta as a sound technician who knows too much. A 35mm screening. Fri., June 26, midnight, $10, and Sat., June 27, midnight, $10. Paper Planes (2014, Australia, 96 min.): A young Australian student learns about himself and others en route to an international paper plane-making competition. Sat., June 27,

SECRET CINEMA The Maas Building, 1320 N. Fifth St., 267-239-2851, thesecretcinema.com. Secret Cinema Short Films: A screening comprising the numerous oddball film clips, from television ads to educational reels, Secret Cinema curator Jay Schwartz has compiled over the years. Sat., June 27, 9 p.m., $8.

FILM SHORTS HEAVEN KNOWS WHAT // B

Though the heavy use of non-actors, grimy guerrilla shooting and loud, painful subject matter has fans thumbing through thesauri to find synonyms for “gritty,” it’s the silent moments of Josh and Benny Safdie’s Heaven Knows What that prove most disquieting. Every time Harley, Arielle Holmes’ autobiographical junkie, finds herself by herself, a deep sense of dread begins choking the frame, and her razor-blade features reveal so little that it’s impossible to tell if she’s about to cry or about to blow. As soon as someone else breaks the plane, Harley snaps back into consciousness, as if she can’t navigate the chore of living without someone else witnessing the attempt. Based on Holmes’ unpublished

memoir, which the directors encouraged her to write after making her acquaintance on the street, the film is a formidable commentary on codependence, cutting the urban nihilism of Kids with psychotic levels of love. In many ways, Harley is the typical American youngster — she listens to music, goes on Facebook, gets fucked up and hangs with people her age, especially her boyfriend Ilya (Caleb Landry Jones), in spite of his tempestuous and abusive behavior. She distances herself from the ideal, however, in a couple ways — she’s homeless, sleeping in shelters, on the streets or in hazy flophouses; and she’s hopelessly hooked on heroin. In lieu of a traditional narrative, the Safdies allow Harley’s addiction, and the moments of pain, confusion and desperation that box out the eye-rolling bliss, to tell its own story. This might disappoint those who insist that triumph, or at least

PHILAMOCA 531 N. 12th St., 267-519-9651, philamoca.org. Parallax (2015, U.S., 120 min.): A tech comedy set in the late ‘80s, about a programmer who builds an ambitious social network. The filmmakers and members of the cast will be in attendance. Fri., June 26, 8 p.m., $10.

TROCADERO THEATRE 1003 Arch St., 215-922-6888, thetroc.com. Fight Club (1999, U.S., 139 min.): “If I did have a tumor, I’d name it Marla.” Mon., June 29, 8 p.m., $3.

resolution, is imperative to drama, but Heaven Knows What is more about its people than the lives they lead. For an amateur actor, Holmes is blessed with some potent star potential, as is Buddy Duress, who’s so good in a supporting role as Harley’s dealer/sometime love interest. As of late last year, he was locked up on Rikers Island on drug charges — too real, just the way like the Safdies like it. —Drew Lazor

citypaper.net/movies

PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

: JUNE 25 - JULY 1 :

GET OUT THERE

BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY

TORRES

ASK PAPA

ROCK/SINGER-SONGWRITER

EVENTS

More than as a songwriter, lyricist or vocalist per se — though she’s solid and inventive in the former department, and frequently arresting in the latter two — 2013’s Torres introduced Mackenzie Scott, most strikingly, simply as a force to be reckoned with; a gritty, fearless, soul-baring expressionist. Sprinter (Partisan) — for which she tellingly enlisted a couple of seasoned PJ Harvey collaborators (plus Portishead’s Adrien Utley) — only ratchets up the potent, unflinching intimacy, stretching out across a dramatic dynamic range from hushed confessionals to electric rage, and delving into impressionistic excavations of her Southern Baptist upbringing. —K. Ross Hoffman

thursday

6.25 RUSH

$46-$395 // Thu., June 25, 7:30 p.m., Wells Fargo Center, 3601 S. Broad St., 215-336-3600, wellsfargocenterphilly.com. RUSH Three men, 40 years, and oh, so many drum solos: Rush is celebrating their 40th anniversary with what is likely their final tour given the always-reticent Neil Peart’s increasing aversion to the road. To celebrate, the prog icons are traveling backward through their epically inclined catalogue with a set list that gets the new stuff out of the way early and culminates with “2112.” —Shaun Brady

LEAPS OF FAITH AND OTHER MISTAKES

$12-$25 // Through June 28, Almanac Dance Circus Theatre at Fleisher Art Memorial, 719 Catharine St., 610-823-2023, thealmanac.us. THEATER Almanac Dance Circus Theatre’s absurd and contemplative follow-up to their acclaimed show Communitas premieres in the Fleisher Art Memorial’s Sanc-

tuary Space. Co-artistic directors Ben Grinberg and Nick Gillette — graduates of the Pig Iron School for Advanced Performance Training’s first class — perform with Adam Kerbel (Headlong Performance Institute) and Nicole Burgio (Cirque du Soleil). The company’s preparation included a month’s study in Montreal with Cirque de Soleil and Cirque Eloize. Josh McIlvain wrote the show’s text, and Patrick Lamborn composed and performs its music, about four strangers who set out for high-seas adventure. —Mark Cofta

f riday

6.26

gorgeous shoegaze and raw, brutal grunge. Creepoid makes sense in a scene with Nothing and Bardo Pond, and on a shelf with Dino Jr., Meat Puppets and Nirvana’s Bleach. —Patrick Rapa

EXHUMED FILMS’ SALUTE TO AVCO EMBASSY PICTURES

$10 per night // Fri.-Sun., June 26-28, 8 p.m., Mahoning Drive-In, 635 Seneca Rd., Lehighton, Pa., exhumedfilms. com, mahoningdit.com. FILM Originally founded

to import foreign films from Fellini to Godzilla into the States, by the late ’70s Avco Embassy Pictures was focused on low-budget genre

CREEPOID

SPRINTER AT REST: $10$12 // Sat., June 27, 8:30 p.m., with Northern Arms, The Boot & Saddle, 1131 S. Broad St., bootandsaddlephilly.com. SHAWN BRACKBILL

Scanners, John Carpenter’s The Fog and Joe Dante’s The Howling — some of the titles that Exhumed Films will be toting up to Lehighton’s Mahoning Drive-In (which is about a 90-minute ride from the city). —Shaun Brady

ROCK/NOISE Philly band

$8 // Fri., June 26, 8 p.m., with Geb the Great Cackler, Bartram’s Garden, 5400 Lindbergh Blvd., 215-7295281, bartramsgarden.org.

Creepoid absolutely crushes it on their new record, Cemetery Highrise Slum (Collect Records). Led by heavylidded rock riffs and Sean Miller’s lovely-but-doomed vocals, the band staggers on the fault line between thick,

Yeah, that’s the genre: universal-folkpsalm. It involves strings, drums singing and lots of wildcards, we’re told. Regardless, it should be fascinating and surprising when Fountainsun — Dan-

UNIVERSAL-FOLKPSALM

films. The company distributed some of the most iconic horror films of the period, including David Cronenberg’s

THE MAGIC OF MATRIMONY DEAR PAPA: I’m getting married in just a few days. I’m excited to call the guy I’m marrying my husband — he’s funny, handsome, interesting, challenging and smart. I’m even excited about the wedding, as stressful as weddings can be. But I worry about being a good partner. Not now, because it’s easy and a good time, but the forever part is scary. Will I still laugh at his jokes? Will he still laugh at mine? Will we be the type of old people who have rooms in a retirement home right next to each other and visit each other after the nurses make their rounds? What if I become very annoying? What if one of us dies? —Blushing Bride DEAR BLUSHING: You think too much. I was very good at getting married and not very good at staying married, but to be good at it you just need to be good at it each day. Marriage is like writing, or like anything else. You do it and then you have a drink, or maybe you do it and you go fishing, or you are tired so you have a drink and go fishing and do it the next day. You will become tiresome and he will become tiresome, but if each morning you wake up and you do it then you will keep doing it forever, if that is what you want to do. And if you don’t want to do it anymore, you stop. It is very simple. —Papa DEAR PAPA: How do I revel in my aloneness? —Lonely on Lancaster DEAR LONELY: Get married. —Papa

askpapa@citypaper.net

FOUNTAINSUN

$10-$13 // Fri., June 26, 9:15 p.m., with Ecstatic Vision and Sick Feeling, Johnny Brenda’s, 1201 N. Frankford Ave., 215739-9684, johnnybrendas.com.

Alli Katz communicates with Ernest Hemingway via Ouija board. Need advice? Papa has the answers.

iel Higgs of shamanic indie band Lungfish and Japanese artist Fumie Ishii — team up for this curious little show in an 18th-century stone barn at Bartram’s Garden. —Patrick Rapa

saturday

6.27

COLLEEN

$15 // Sat., June 27, 8 p.m., FringeArts, 140 N. Columbus Blvd., 215-413-1318, fringearts.com. EXPERIMENTAL/POP/ AMBIENT Parisian dream-

weaver Cécile Schott has explored myriad musical pathways over the years, always leading to a similarly shimmering, gently surreal reverie — from gauzy, ambling sample-scapes to twinkling music boxes to starkly minimalist works for baroque-era instrumentation, most notably the gut-string viola da gamba. Captain of None, her sixth album and first for the Thrill Jockey label, forays further afield into dub textures (complete with melodica and abundant percussive sounds, largely coaxed from her gamba) and whispery

ambient pop songs whose vocal layering should appeal to Julianna Barwick fans. —K. Ross Hoffman

MENDELSSOHN CLUB OF PHILADELPHIA

free // Sat.-Sun., June 27-28, 7:30 p.m., The Water Works, 640 Water Works Dr., mcchorus.org. CLASSICAL For his final

concert in his 27-year tenure as artistic director of the Mendelssohn Club of Philadelphia, Alan Harler could certainly have chosen music by Bach, Mozart or even Stravinsky, all of whose works he has performed with great strength and beauty. But no. His swan song will

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be a world premiere, a fitting reminder of Harler’s invaluable commitment to living composers. Byron Au Yong was commissioned to create TURBINE as a site-specific work, to be performed outdoors at the Fairmount Water Works in honor of that landmark’s 200th anniversary, along the banks of the Schuylkill, with dance accompaniment courtesy of Leah Stein Dance Company. It should be a remarkable counterpoint to the tall ships sailing at the same time along Philadelphia’s other coast. —Peter Burwasser

lyrics like a pack-a-day junkyard Cerberus — we’d probably think of Fucked Up as that kinda pretty pop punk band from Toronto. But he is theirs and they are his, and together they are a catchy and exhilarating, L AURA-LYNN PETRICK

IKER SPOZIO

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

sunday

but decidedly polarizing, hardcore act. Also on the bill is Doomsquad, a very pretty electronic dreamcore band from Toronto. —Patrick Rapa

DOOMSQUAD/ FUCKED UP

SAXOFOUR WITH JAMAALADEEN TACUMA

6.28 $15 // Sun., June 28, 8 p.m., I-House, 3701 Chestnut St., ihousephilly.org, r5productions.com.

$15-$18 // Sun., June 28, 8 p.m., World Café Live, 3025 Walnut St., 215-222-1400, philly.worldcafelive.com.

PUNK/ROCK If it wasn’t for lead singer Damian Abraham — who barks his righteous

JAZZ For the past 25 years, Philly bass great Jamaaladeen Tacuma has been

PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

making annual visits to Austria to play with Wolfgang Puschnig, but the Viennabased saxophonist rarely makes the return trip. On Sunday Puschnig and his saxophone quartet Saxofour will finally arrive in Philly, performing material from their Music for All Occasions CD (everything from “Happy Birthday” to music for a chase or a railroad journey) with Tacuma and drummer Timi Hutson. —Shaun Brady

JESSICA PAVONE $7-$10 // Sun., June 28, 7:30 p.m., with Jesse KenasCollins/Flandrew Fleisenberg, Random Tea Room and Curiosity Shop, 713 N. Fourth St., museumf ire.com/events. EXPERIMENTAL Violist Jessica Pavone, a collaborator with experimentalists like Anthony Braxton and Mary Halvorson, spent 21 months away from her instrument following 2012 back surgery. Apparently she found inspiration in her restricted movement, as her music since has focused intently on the manipulation of minimal elements. Pavone’s solo sets zero in on long tones and single notes, wringing an extreme range of sounds from stringently sparse source material. —Shaun Brady

tuesday

6.30

CIRCUIT DES YEUX

$10 // Tue., June 30, 8 p.m., with Chris Forsyth and Jeff Zeigler, Johnny Brenda’s, 1201 N. Frankford Ave., 215-7399684, johnnybrendas.com. AMBIENT Through headphones, Haley Fohr’s haunting baritone seems to come not from some device but from somewhere deep within your own head. As Circuit des Yeux, Fohr conjures the musical equivalent of some mysterious Gothic cathedral

JULIA DRETEL

— dark, rich, and austerely ornate. Though she’s gone it alone in the past, on this tour, as on her new album In Plain Speech (Thrill Jockey), she’s joined by members of Bitchin Bajas and other Chicago peers. —Shaun Brady

citypaper.net/events

NEED PLANS THIS WEEKEND? we’ve already done the work for you on what’s going on in philly!

FOOD&DRINK

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

REVIEWS // OPENIN GS // LISTIN GS // RECIPES

LINE ‘EM UP: The back patio at Kensington Quarters is a happy hour oasis, with these drinks, from left, The Impressionist, Feast of St. Martin and Herb Garden. MARIA POUCHNIKOVA

with coleslaw, sweet and sour meatballs and smoked tongue with pickled green tomatoes. Happy Hour: Daily, 5-7 p.m. 1623 Sansom St., 215-867-0088, abefisherphilly.com.

HAPPY HOUR

BY CAROLINE RUSSOCK

PRIME TIME

From foie gras-stuffed wings to housemade rye toasts and killer cocktails, Philadelphia’s happy hour scene is really heating up. WATCHING THE CLOCK is an unavoidable part of office life, but nothing seems to make the minutes tick slower than knowing that you’ve got happy hour plans. Especially now that Philly’s upping its game in that arena.What was once the realm of discount well drinks, dollar domestics and a Sternoheated tray of chicken wings is quickly evolving into something worth waiting for. Here’s a look at some of the best happy hour deals in town minus the mixed nuts. ABE FISHER Chef Yehuda Sichel has been exploring the vast and varied world of Jewish cuisine at Abe Fisher in a way that’s thoughtful and entirely intriguing. If you haven’t made it

there for dinner, now’s the time to get in on the action. They’ve recently expanded their already stellar happy hour program to seven days a week from 5 to 7 p.m. And stellar isn’t an overstatement. Every wine and cocktail on the menu (usually $12) is on offer for $7, an invitation to sample some lesser known varietals like auxerrois from Alsace or a Spanish bobal, or cocktails like the Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition — a fascinating blend of rum, Pedro Ximenez sherry, Gran Marnier and beet juice. In the kitchen, Sichel is rolling out a new series of mini open-faced sandwiches using Abe Fisher’s house-baked rye bread. They’re coming three to an order for $5, topped with combos like pulled veal breast

PALLADINO’S ON PASSYUNK East Passyunk might not be home to many office buildings but Palladino’s new happy hour is a good excuse to head south when the whistle blows. The flatbreads are reason enough — especially for shareable pizzata, a paper-thin pizza that’s stuffed with creamytangy stracchino cheese, Parmesan and a basil tomato sauce. New to the happy hour menu are oversized chicken wings stuffed with foie gras mousse and finished with a chipotle barbecue sauce. Other favorites from the dinner menu like prosciutto-wrapped truffled grissini and truffle-cheese-filled arancini are also on offer. On the drinks side, there’s an Aperol Spritz with a splash of riesling, and a white Negroni floral Cocchi Americano. Happy Hour: Mon.-Fri., 5-7 p.m.; Sun., 2:30-5 p.m. 1934 E. Passyunk Ave., 267-9284339, lukepalladino.com. KENSINGTON QUARTERS Although it might be hidden from the Frankfort Avenue exterior, the lovely (and spacious) back patio of Kensington Quarters is one of the nicer outdoor happy hour spots in the city. Add in crisp glasses of rosé and cool cocktails like the Impressionist (with small-batch bourbon, chamomile grappa and lemon) and you’ll want to stay all night — especially since your tab is discounted by 20 percent when you’re sitting at the bar or on the patio. The kitchen is putting out a great selection of drinkingfriendly snacks like pork fat popcorn and beef tartare with capers and yolk sauce. With an in-house butcher shop selling sustainably raised cuts, Kensington Quarters also offers a meat happy hour: 10 percent off everything behind the counter. If you do plan on stopping in for more than one, the folks at the butcher shop will be happy to keep your purchases in the fridge while you’re enjoying your cocktails. HappyHour:Tue.-Fri.,5-7p.m. 1310Frankford Ave., 267-314-5086, kensingtonquarters.com.

JAMONERA Anyone who has been to Spain knows that tapas shouldn’t break the bank (and if we’re really going for authenticity here, they should be gratis) but sadly this isn’t the case Stateside. Happily Marcie Turney and Val Safran are bringing a little taste of Espana to 13th Street with their new summer happy hour. Sangria ($5), red and white wine by the glass ($6) and bottles of Estrella ($4) are being served at the bar and in the patio dining area as well as a full menu of $5 tapas, including classics like pan con tomate, tortilla española and croquettes filled with ham or fava beans. Happy Hour: Sun.-Thu., 5-6:30 p.m. 105 S. 13th St.,215-922-6061,jamonerarestaurant.com. PETRUCE ET AL. With $5 pours from local breweries like Tired Hands and Nodding Head, $6 glasses of wine, cider and sherry handpicked by owner/sommelier Tim Kweeder — plus a rotating menu of $7 riffs on classic cocktails — Petruce et al.

Abe Fisher is rolling out a new series of open-faced sandwiches using house-baked rye bread. has one of the best under-the-radar happy hours in town. Add to that creative bar bites from the kitchen like squash with bagna cauda, tomato and furikake, a sourdough pancake with scallions, plus a daily special (all $5) and it’s easy to make a very nice night of it here. Happy Hour: Tue.-Fri., 5-7 p.m. 1121 Walnut St., 267-225-8232, petrucephilly.com. (@CarolineRussock)

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PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // C I T Y PA PER . N ET

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BY ADAM ERACE

REVIEW

THE DUDE ABIDES SOUTH BOWL // 19 E. Oregon Ave., 215-389BOWL, southbowlphilly.com. Mon.-Fri., 6 p.m.-1 a.m.; Sat.-Sun., noon-1 a.m., 21+ after 9 p.m. MY RENTED SHOES squeaked on the shiny wood. My ball, a heavy sphere of psychedelic green swirls, shot down the alley straight and true. SMACK! Contact. The front pin flipped, causing a domino effect that tumbled all its brothers. I’ve never been great at bowling. For me, childhood birthday parties at St. Monica’s were more about Pizza Shack pies and endless Coke, while my younger brother excelled; he had his own baby blue ball and bag. In ’92, the summer of Hurricane Andrew and the year my brother (also named Andrew) turned 7, my parents threw him a bash at the Showboat’s bowling alley. He bowled well, no bumpers, but cried because his cake said Happy Birthday Hurricane Andrew, in baby blue icing. I hadn’t been bowling in a decade, but somehow my brain managed to communicate with my arms and legs at South Bowl, North Bowl’s slick new 26-lane sidekick that opened in a former cold-storage warehouse on the literal other side of the tracks in deep South Philly. I bowled a strike, a couple spares, and won two games. Turns out my 9-year-old goddaughter is a really sore loser. Then again, maybe she was just annoyed at the chicken cutlet sandwich she ordered for dinner. Composed of two giant planks of pounded, breaded and fried breast, wrinkly long hots, garlicky rabe and melted provolone sauce on a sesame-seed roll, it seemed harder for her to lift than her 10-pound bowling ball. I liked it well enough, but preferred the other fried chicken. Encased in a crackly shell in the Korean fashion, this juicy, tender bird arrived on a righteous kimchi pancake that stretched to the edges of the plate. Okonomiyaki at a bowling alley? It was inevitable, I guess, as foodie culture bleeds into more and more aspects of American life, though you might be more likely to find restaurant critics-in-training munching on Mexican street corn and curried short rib empanadas at South Bowl, while their timid moms and dads stick with Buffalo chicken dumplings (decent) and wood-oven pizza. I felt like Channing Tatum when he goes back to high school in 21 Jump Street — nothing at a bowling alley was like I remembered. At South Bowl, there’s a full bar with craft beers and a malbec margarita, hi-def flat-screens for ignoring the Phillies and kale salad, which came studded with tart dried cherries, toasted almonds and pickled cabbage and dressed in a terrific orange-miso dressing. The place handled a salmon burger well, too, cooking the petite patty evenly and tucking it between a toasted English muffin with crunchy slaw. Together, they made a healthful counterpoint to the list of nine differently topped tots. Friendly young servers deliver direct to the horseshoeshaped wooden benches fronting each lane. You can pay for food and drinks however you want, but bowling — which you pay for separately at the kind-of-a-cluster front desk — is cash-only, and there’s a two-game max. Lucky for my goddaughter. (aerace.citypaper@gmail.com, @adamerace)

C I T Y PA PER . N ET // JUNE 25 - JULY 1, 2015 // PHIL ADELPHIA CIT Y PAPER

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this week: spring style guide

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