David Andrews performed with his band at the Knitting Factory in Hollywood. Though the concert seemed last minute, with around twenty audience members and no apparent advertising, Andrews and his band performed well, especially considering the eleventh hour addition of their new drummer, Dijulio. According to Andrews, his old drummer was forced to join another band at gunpoint. Andrews said he was bummed, but what could he do? In the game of "Rock, Paper, Scissors" gun; trumps all. The old drummer had an offer he couldn't refuse. New drummer Dijulio's playing was one of the finer points of the evening's performance, so Andrews need not worry. Ted Kamp played a mean guitar, but the talented Chris Murphy needs to tune his electric violin as he had a few musical missteps. Michelle Van Cleef supplied her lovely voice to accentuate David's lead vocals. David switched instruments through the hour as he introduced songs, sharing a sentence or two about what inspired him to write each one. Mr. Andrew's skill is beyond question. His performance is fine tuned. He has a pleasing voice that is a reminiscent blend of Bob Seeger and Bob Dylan with a Jackson Browne foam. Though his tunes are not uninspired, their inspiration lacks depth. Once while waiting at an airport he stared at a wool tapestry of birds for a long time. This inspired him to write his song "Stitched in Wool." "Wedding Song", "Eyes of Mine", "2000 Miles Away", "Take My Soul" were each prefaced by an equally banal tale. With such musical skill, too many simplistic songs became disappointing. The David Andrews Band has the potential for greatness, but their songs need more meat. Even the self explanatory "Wine and Sex Story" comes across as pedestrian in its winking edginess. Viewed as a band on the rise, (which they should be) David Andrews' CD, "Get Me Out of This Place" is worth checking out. Though simple, there are no duds in the batch. Andrews himself is quite amiable. After the performance he made a point of thanking each attendee personally for coming out. It was then that he shared his drummer woes, and lamented the absence of good Oregon (his home state) beer. His smiling presence was a welcome shift from the 5 leather clad self important Knitting Factory thugs that cleared the room the minute Andrews finished playing. If he returns to Los Angeles, he deserves a friendlier venue and a bigger audience.

Jack Sanderson

First let's start with the venue. Art City is a fabulous, rustic set of, and I use the term lightly, buildings. Located on the outskirts of Ventura proper, it sports wood floors, tin roofs (not quiet rusted) and a very fluffy tomcat named Billy. The art is amazing: iron bars shaped into rib cages, nails formed into fountains, sculptures you want to touch and pass around like a pipe and a terraced garden in the back where slabs of marble in various states of becoming have shed the dust of their making all over the flowers. The event was in the main gallery, actually I'm not sure if there were any other galleries, but this looked like the main one. As the room filled up I once again realized that I am always amazed by the great support that poetry gets to the left and the right of Los Angeles.

L to R: Money, Taggert, Wheeler, Olivera

Phil Taggert hosted the reading in honor of San Francisco poet Peter Money's new book released on Mille Grazie Press. Taggert opened the reading with his soft-spoken version of rap full of syllabic pattern and meaning if you just let your need for the linear go right beside you mother's opinion about your hair. Following Phil was the Poet Laureate of Santa Barbara, David Olivera, the publisher of Mille Grazie Press, opened with a fabulous poem called "Q&A" about the nature of life and death in relation to age and youth. He ended his section of the reading with the amusingly insightful "Gemini" introducing it with a reference to his up coming birthday, saying that it was the best sign in the zodiac (and strangely due to the lighting arrangement, the statue beside David was casting two shadows...creepy.) In what might have been the funniest lines of the evening, he read, "Every time I see a picture of Prince Charles on the cover of a magazine, I'm reminded how far a person can go with the right clothes."

Next up was Jackson Wheeler, man most likely to be voted Poet Laureate of Ventura if they ever get around to the task of assigning someone. He is also the publisher of the wonderful SOLO magazine, which contains everyone from LA's Holly Prado to Chilean poet Marjorie Agosin. He told everyone that if they were the type to buy illicit things out of the backs of cars, he had plenty of copies of SOLO for them. He opened the reading with a fabulous piece by George Hitchcock from SOLO 3, but I'm not going to tell you what it was...go buy the magazine. Wheeler was by far the strongest reader of the evening. From his poem about Helen and Clytamnestra titled "Trojan Woman" about "how the gods love us and the world goes on," to his poems about growing up in the Southern Appalachians and the burning of Atlanta then to his painful poem about cleaning out his brother's house after he died of Aids ("I am making him disappear one task at a time.") Wheeler was on fire. I felt for Peter Money, a boy from out of town with the most unlikely last name a poet has ever had, following the three northern/southern California staples.

Peter Money began his poetry career when he moved to New York to study poetry with John Ashbury only to discover that Allen Ginsberg had replaced him. He lives in San Francisco with his wife now and works as a Librarian at the San Francisco Library. David Olivera introduced Money saying that when he first came across his work he considered it to be "so careful, full of surprise, like jazz music." Olivera asked Money for a list of his influences and Money, after some time, sent him what looked to be, as Olivera held it up, the most detailed genealogy chart ever made.

Meeting the expectations set up by Olivera, Money came to the stage with a detailed reading list and a pile of books, but like the absent minded professor he seemed to be he tussled with the books and was awkward keeping up with his list. His first poem was inspired by a Raymond Carver character named Louise. While doing laundry she "holds the line down with her neck." I'm not sure why that would be attractive but the poem was cute with Money saying that all he wanted to do was live in a trailer with Louise. Money's poetry was dense and in the tradition of T.S. Eliot seemed to require a lot of explanation on his part to get all of the meaning. This is not my favorite kind of poetry but I liked it enough of the pieces to buy the book and spend time pondering the reminder of poems in my spare time. "Street Carnival in Brooklyn" about the writer crossing the Brooklyn Bridge while a jumper contemplates jumping is amazing. One of the last poems he read contained the line "flesh satisfies flesh, and flesh does not complain." One might say the same of poets and good poetry. The evening was divine, and I have no complaints.

Carlye Archibeque