Best Of :: Arts & Entertainment
There's no shortage of bands who can impress you with how many notes they can play, how many solos they can pull off, how many times the keyboardist can bang his afro against the ivories. To a certain degree, Robert Jon and the Wreck have all of those qualities. But what separates them from the rest of the pack is their ability to combine technical wizardry, headbanging gusto and Super Bowl half-time choruses in a way that just feels real. (Oh, and their OC Music Award for Best Live Band.) Even in the middle of sterile SoCal suburbia, songs such as "Georgia Mud" and "Rhythm of the Road" are delivered with pounding, relentless energy built for the roughest, toughest roadhouses. No matter where they're performing, you can count on them leaving the stage drenched in sweat, a graveyard of broken strings and sticks at their feet. Most important, you don't walk away from this band without conceding they have earned their facial hair . . . a true test for any great rock band.
Tired of the kids making a mess as they play fort in the living room? Take them to this miniature city, all within the confines of an industrial park building, and let them make a mess there. Kids from infants to 8-year-olds will go wild as they debate Obamacare in the mini-doctors' offices sponsored by Kaiser Permanente; perform an avant-garde play in the small theater; farm plastic fruit and vegetables with rakes and baskets; create a masterpiece at an art studio; build stuff while wearing goggles and orange vests at the construction site; go fishing and build boats at the marina; shop at a tiny Ralphs; go to the beach, where there are lots of sand and buckets and beach chairs—wherever their imaginations take them. It's a living hell if you don't have (or can't stand) children, but an educational, relatively cheap excursion that helps build an active interior life in your child. Better than a night at Chuck E. Cheese.
Last time we visited BC Space in Laguna Beach, we got a personal tour after the closing of the "Capital Crime$" group exhibition. Several pieces had been removed already, leaving sad, empty holes, but photographer/political activist/gallery owner Mark Chamberlain filled us in on what was missing, walking us through what was left. Art is everywhere once you climb the stairs—in every corner and every room. Even the bathroom has something to look at while you're doing your business. The money Chamberlain makes as a commercial photographer subsidizes the tough, topical, completely non-commercial work hidden in the upstairs gallery . . . all in a shopping area of downtown Laguna where you wouldn't even notice it if you didn't know it was there. And now you do. Per the website, "Gallery hours are irregular and event driven, but appointments for viewing may easily be arranged by contacting the gallery." Call now.
While the Laguna Art Museum continues to give it a run for its money each year, the Orange County Museum of Art's first exhibition of 2013—"Richard Jackson: Ain't Painting a Pain," curated by Dennis Szakacs—was so amazing it nailed the honor this year in mid-February. Exhilarating, thoughtful, angry and subversive, it's a travesty Jackson's fantastic body of work didn't get one of these earlier. The museum's second exhibition—curator Dan Cameron's downsized and retitled "2013 California-Pacific Triennial"—is just as adventurous, offering people walking through its doors a veritable roller-coaster ride of art from the Pacific Rim.
Did you know there's a Joan Miro-cast bronze statue in the lobby of a Costa Mesa office building? Yeah, neither did we. But now that we do, we can't take our eyes off it. It's described as a "bird" by various websites, but we know Miro's work. The Spanish Surrealist was as obsessed with sex as we are. Take a long hard look at the statue. It ain't no bird.
Fox's mixed-media, socially conscious painting is heavy on black outlines separating figures from their backgrounds, his people often caught in a colorful nature scene at odds with the technology: umbrellas don't work, businessmen swirl down into whirlpools while still talking on cell phones, butterflies sniff at lost electronics, obese birds sit at the top of collapsing staircases. His 3D figures often lift and separate from their place on the canvases, rising above, possibly escaping. If we had a Kebe Fox coloring book as a kid, we'd be much cooler than we are now.